


Q is for Quartermaster: Drabble Edition

by Sarah_Ellie



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), Skyfall - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-02-10
Updated: 2013-02-17
Packaged: 2017-11-28 19:49:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 64
Words: 42,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/678248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sarah_Ellie/pseuds/Sarah_Ellie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a collection of the drabbles I've been writing on my tumblr tenpointsforq.tumblr.com.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Peeking into the Personnel File

“You have a cat? Really?” Bond asked Q, looking dubiously at the white furry creature staring back at him from the divan. 

“Why do you sound incredulous?” Q asked, reaching out to hand Bond his scotch. 

“Because you have now perfectly embodied every major cliche of the virgin computer nerd.” Bond said, taking a long pull from his glass. “You’ve got the cat, a slew of cardigans and the sardonic attitude. All that you’re missing is a coffee table book about Stephen Hawking and- you’re kidding.” Bond pointed down at the book, which was embossed with the name HAWKING in large, gold letters across the front. 

“Don’t be an arse, 007.” Q said, his features pulled into a frown. He poured a heavy measure of scotch into a tumbler of his own, but did not drink from it. 

“Why is it that you only call me 007 when you’re cross?” Bond asked. He stepped farther into the room to perch on the arm of Q’s navy blue sofa, arms reach from the cat. 

“Do you want the bloody coding discs or not?” Q snapped. Bond raised his hands in false surrender and nodded. 

“Very well then.” Q nodded, and turned towards the beaten-up secretary against the far wall of the room. He downed the contents of his glass in one burning swallow, and began to fumble through the contents of the drawers. What he wanted was a fucking cigarette- something to put between his lips to keep him from smacking the double-oh upside the head. A move like that would most certainly get him killed. 

“What’s your cat’s name?” Bond asked suddenly. “Ah! Not a friendly bloke, is he?” Bond said when he went to stroke the cat. The cat had hissed and batted at Bond’s hand before skulking off towards Q’s bedroom.

Q was peering at a number of unmarked discs, trying to remember whether he had burned the files onto one with a black center band or blue. He smiled a little as he saw the cat disappear around the corner. 

“Her name is Schrodinger.” Q said over his shoulder. “And she does not like arseholes. Here’s the disc.” He put the blue-banded disc in a jeweled case and tossed it to bond, who caught it with both hands. 

“You’re mad at me.” Bond said, peering at Q. 

“And Her Majesty’s favorite spy has solved another great mystery.” Q said, rolling his eyes. He gestured vaguely towards the front door. “Goodday, Bond.”

And with that, Q turned on his heel and left the room. 

Q was in his bedroom, the belt of his trousers unbuckled and is shirt undone, when Bond entered the room. He leaned against the door casually, looking Q up and down. 

“Christ- Bond! Get out!” Q hissed. 

“You’re mad because of the cat comment?” Bond prodded, pushing himself upright and walking over to the bed. He sat down. Q gaped at him for a moment, and then whipped his shirt off and turned to dig through his closet furiously. Schrodinger was laying on the floor, gazing up at Q with clear blue eyes. 

“No, believe it or not, pet ownership is not offensive to me.” Q snapped. He pulled a black cotton shirt with a band logo over his dark curls and glasses. “What does it matter?”

“The computer-nerd thing, then.” Bond said morosely. 

“Not precisely.” Q said, pausing to look at Bond for a moment. The double-oh was fantastically comfortable on his bed, watching Q closely. He wasn’t perfectly certain, but he thought he saw amusement behind Bond’s eyes. There was an ulterior motive to whatever Bond was doing, he just couldn’t tell what it was yet. 

“Ah.” Bond said. His gaze centered on Q’s unfastened belt. Color rose high on Q’s cheeks, but he did not turn away as he pulled the belt from his belt loops and quickly undid the fly of his trousers. 

“You’re mad because I called you a virgin.” Bond said. 

Q grit his teeth and kicked off his pants. He walked bare-legged, save for his boxer-briefs, to his bureau to pull out a dark pair of jeans. 

“I can’t be buggered what you think about my sex life. You can think I’m a virgin if that’s what helps you sleep at night” Q said, pulling on the jeans. They hugged his hips low, a thin slice of skin visible below his t-shirt until he pulled it down. 

“You don’t have any ex-girlfriends in your personal history report.” Bond said. “I assumed.”

“You don’t have access to my personnel file.” Q said, freezing for a moment. 

“Don’t worry, Q. It was stunningly blank anyway. It didn’t even list your real name. But even my file has a glimpse of my sordid romantic past. They’ve got the name of a girl named Anna and a picture of Vesper, I believe.” 

Bond laid back on Q’s bed, staring at the ceiling with disinterest. Throwing his hands in the air a bit, Q decided that fuck what Bond thought he knew. He reached into his jacket, which he had hung on the back of his door, and pulled out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. He lit up, taking a steadying pull from the cancerous little stick. 

“MI6 is a bit behind the times when it comes to investigating the sexual history of its staff.” Q said finally, leaning back on his bureau and flicking some ash into his empty glass. “They asked about any women in my past, and didn’t inquire further when I said that there weren’t any.”

Bond smiled and propped himself up on his elbows. 

“You’re gay.” Bond said. There was something akin to glee in his voice. Q’s jaw unhinged for a moment, then he snapped it shut and walked out of the room. Bond followed, still smiling.

“I take it since you’ve ignored all previous attempts on my part to remove you from my flat, that kicking you out now will be impossible.” Q said. He voice was level, but something is his eyes seemed pissed and wild. 

“You ought to checkyour blood pressure, Q. I can see that vein at your temple.”

“I AM YOUR QUARTERMASTER!” Q yelled suddenly. He threw his hands angrily into the air and then jerked the kettle from the stove. He threw the lid back and began to fill the pot with water. “I am entitled to the minimum of respect from you, Bond! Whether you think I deserve it or not!”

He slammed the kettle down on the stove and flicked the burner on. He turned back towards Bonds with his arms crossed over his chest, nostrils flaring. 

Bond looked at him with concern. 

“I think you deserve respect.” Bond said quietly. 

“Well then you should bloody well treat me better.” Q said pointedly. 

Bond opened his mouth, closed it, and suddenly rushed forward, pressing his lips against Q’s.

***

 

It was hard to decide whether they were engaged in a stubborn battle of wills or actual attraction. When Bond’s lips met Q’s, Q let his body open up to the kiss. He allowed his lips to be pliant and his hips to open so that he could feel Bond against him. With the burning frustration of Bond’s assumptions, Q had the sudden desire to show Bond exactly how much of a virgin he was not.

Q kissed Bond back roughly. He pressed his tongue behind Bond’s teeth and then sucked on his lower lip for a few minutes before nipping down Bond’s neck with his teeth. His hands gripped Bond by the belt loops on his hips- holding him tight against Q. He was surprised when he felt hardness pressing into him. Bond was aroused.

“Didn’t think this would be your thing.” Q growled, sucking a deep bruise just under Bond’s collarbone.

“I could say the same for you.” Bond said. He reached his arms around Q and gripped the counter tightly. Q grinned. Standing, there wasn’t enough friction for Bond to get what he was looking for. He was left needing, wanting, bucking into the air.

Quickly, Q grasped Bond’s tie and wrapped it around his hand so that Bond’s neck was exposed. He bit the delicate skin by Bond’s adam’s apple and then kissed his way back up to Bond’s mouth, stopping just at the corner of his lips. Then, he stepped away from Bond, breaking his grip on the counter. Q smirked, and led Bond, by the tie, towards the bedroom.

“Strip.” Q said, pulling Bond’s tie so that the agent was pressed up against him yet again. He allowed for a deep, lingering kiss, and then let go of the tie so that he could reachdown to release the buckle on Bond’s belt.

Not surprisingly, Bond took orders remarkably well. He was stripped bare, with his clothes pooled in a puddle around him, in seconds. His cock pressed upwards towards his belly button. Q grinned, and pushed Bond towards the bed. Bond let Q guide him, kneeling on the bed as Q followed.

“You’re overdressed.” Bond smiled coyly. “Here-“

Bond reached forward and pulled the t-shirt off from over Q’s head, and deftly undid his jeans with his calloused fingers and slid them over the curve of Q’s ass. The clothes were chucked from the bed, and Bond curled around Q so that Q was laying flat on his back. He kissed Q, and then began to nip his way down the Quartermaster’s chest, dipping his tongue into Q’s navel. Then, he began to kiss lower, sucking on Q’s erection through his boxer-briefs.

Q bucked up into the heat, wanting more than anything to have Bond’s hot, wet mouth around his cock. He jumped a little when Bond’s hand inched up the leg of his briefs and began to press against him. He gasped, and thrust upwards with more force.

There was a bottle of lube in the dresser next to Q’s bed, right next to a condom packet that was just in Q’s reach. He opened the drawer and felt around blindly for them both while Bond pulled the waistband of Q’s briefs down and took him into his mouth. Bond sucked at him, hard, rolling his tongue over his tip.

“Bond?” Q gasped, and tried to clear his head a little bit. It was exceedingly difficult with Bond’s mouth on him. “Bond- have you ever done this before?”

He had to ask. Bond had a widely known reputation as a romancer of women, but there was not a single mention of men. Sure, he had joked about it, but Bond hated nothing more than seeming inexperienced.

“Hmmm?” Bond asked, mouth still on Q. The vibrations in Bond’s through sent tiny waves of pleasure through Q. It was torturous, running his fingers through Bond’s hair to try and pull him off.

“Bond, have you ever done this before?” Q asked again, looking down at the much older double-oh.

There was a pause. Then Bond shook his head, chin resting on Q’s thigh. Q sat up, still holding the lube in his hands. Bond shifted as well, lounging across the bed on his side and looking up at Q.

“Top or Bott-“

“Top.” Bond said. “And for christ’s sake don’t baby me. I’ve been around the world more times than you’ve been on it”

“Uh… right then. Lube.” Q held up the bottle and handed it to Bond. The condom he put on top of the side table. “But you need to-“

“You’re worse than a bloody after school special.” Bond grinned. He shifted so that he was sitting the same height as Q, and then pressed himself on top of Q’s body so that they were both lying horizontally on the mattress. Q heard the lid of the bottle snap open, and he felt the cool slickness of Bond’s fingers sliding between his legs. Small circles were rubbed against his opening, and Q spread himself wider to give Bond better access. Slowly, Bond slid a finger inside of him. He paused for a moment, and then began to rock his hand back and forth. Q arched his back, squeezing his eyes shut and panting with want when Bond skimmed his prostate.

Bond slid a second finger inside of Q, and felt an aching tug on his cock when Q grinded down onto his fingers needily. After a few minutes Bond was barely holding himself together, so in his eagerness he slid in a third finger without warning. This elicited a something between a keen and a cry from Q, whose jaw tensed. His one hand fisted the bed sheets while the other reached over his head to grab at a ridge in the headboard.

“James-“Q gasped, looking down at Bond with wild eyes.

“Are you ready?” Bond asked, quietly. There was a touch of shyness in his tone, and Q tried to bring himself back a little bit so that he could carry Bond through.

“Yeah, yeah I’m ready.” He groaned. Bond slowly withdrew his fingers and rolled on the condom.

He pressed into Q slowly at first, terrified of hurting him. But soon, the heat and the tightness drew the breath out of him, and he pressed inside harder until Q had taken in all of him. He paused for a moment, adjusting to the feeling and allowing Q to get used to him. Then he began to move gently inside of Q, who raised his knees to his chest to better grant Bond access.

“Fuck, James…” Q gasped, thrusting his cock in his palm. Bond began to move more quickly, pushing into Q more forcefully. He brought Q’s legs up to rest on his shoulders and moved himself closer so that he could rest on his knees. This left him with a hand free to wrap around Q’s cock while he fucked him.

Q began to rock in motion with Bond, creating a rhythm that knocked the bed against the wall over and over and over again. Bond was quiet, his faced screwed tight with pleasure, as he thrust deeply into Q. The tightness pulled him closer and closer to the edge.

A moment later, Q groaned deeply and pressed himself down onto Bond, hard. Bond came instantly, throwing his head back and pumping his hips shallowly. He was breathing heavily when Q came just after. Bond let his full weight fall onto Q’s chest.

Gently, Q carded his fingers through the short tufts of Bond’s hair. He leaned down to place a small kiss right at Bond’s temple.


	2. Their Secret

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Q and Bond having to keep their relationship a secret due to MI6 rules.”

Q could tell that he had shocked Bond when he walked into the pub. The agent was waiting at a table towards the back, under a dingy flickering light. The table was etched deeply with the scars of patrons past. Bond’s own fingers tapped a rhythm into the wood that Q didn’t recognize, but found endearing all the same.

“Double-oh.” Q nodded to Bond, a shy smirk playing at the corner of his lips. He draped his leather jacket off the back of his chair and sat down.

“Q.” Bond returned the nod and leaned in over the table. “So this is what a Quartermaster wears when he’s out on the town?” He gestured to the leather jacket and the slim black shirt and dark jeans.

“Did you expect my entire wardrobe to be made up of button-downs and cardigans?” Q laughed. Bond thought it was a delightful sound and a far cry from the look of reservation that Q usually wore when he was sulking around Q branch, a mug of tea in one hand and a frown permanently etched onto his face.

“Pretty much.” Bond chuckled as he signaled to the waitress. He put in an order for one of the brews on tap, and Q signaled that he wanted the same. 

“Well I suppose we’re even, because I never pegged you for much of a beer-drinking sort of guy.” Q said once the waitress had disappeared.

“I’m also not much of a fan of dives, but such is how it is.” Bond shrugged, glancing around. They had chosen the pub because neither of them had ever been there before, which meant that it was probably off of MI6’s grid. Hopefully.

“Yes, this must be so painful for you.” Q smirked, decidedly trying to make the best of a strained situation. “I bet the taxi ride was particularly odious.”

“Well I certainly wasn’t taking the bloody tube.” Bond said. Neither of them mentioned the obvious option- they each had a car assigned to them by MI6. While Q rarely if ever drove his, Bond was rather fond of his car. The trouble was that there were trackers in them, and if someone made the connection that they were seeing each other outside of Headquarters. Well.

By the end of the night neither of them was very drunk, but they were both rather touchy. Q kept feeling Bond’s hands at his waist, his back, his arms. He pressed into Bond’s touches, subtle as they were. He had to spend all day around Bond, particularly in the new, cramped headquarters of MI6, pretending not to notice him past the typical “A Quartermaster annoyed by his double-oh’s inability to return his bloody equipment” relationship. He had no desire to do the same outside of work as well. The trouble was, the threat of discovery loomed over them both. It was a cover that was hard to break.

They walked together until they reached the corner that was the neutral point between their two homes. There was a slight awkwardness as they stood, unsure whether to say goodbye or to continue on as they both desperately wanted to. Finally, Q ran his fingers through his long dark hair and looked to Bond.

“You know, those surveillance cameras they put outside of MI6’s houses? The ones for security purposes?” Q began, his voice quiet.

“Yeah, I’m aware of the bloody things.” Bond replied. He had been trying to disconnect his, unsuccessfully, for years.

“The feeds get directed through Q branch. Very easy to cut snippets out here and there, replicate it with a loop. The only person who would notice such a thing is, well, me.” Q said with a sly smile. Bond returned the grin.

“Well then. Your place or mine?” Bond asked.


	3. The Most Important Thing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Q is a single father- something 007 discovers after saving him and his toddler from a kidnapping attempt”

In his head, Bond went through the mental list of creepy things that he had done that day. At the top of the list was following Q home from work because he had a feeling. Just below that was continuing to watch Q’s building. The third was what had gotten him into the whole mess in the first place- listening to Q talk about his home life to Moneypenny.

“So do you like the new apartment?” She had asked Q in the small kitchen of MI6. Bond was standing outside of the door, waiting for Tanner. He convinced himself that he hadn’t meant to overhear anything.

“It’s nice.” Q said, stirring his tea.

“Meet any new people that you like?” Moneypenny asked.

“I’m kind of a homebody.” Q had replied. “Sometimes I go to the park, but mostly I just stay at the flat.”

So now there Bond was, standing outside of Q’s house, trying to learn a thing or two about the man whose brilliance and expertise was supposed to be able to save his life. Bond wasn’t so sure quite yet. While he couldn’t help finding himself somewhat drawn to his new Quartermaster, in a way that he hadn’t felt in a long time, the attraction made Bond wary. He didn’t recognize the feeling. Something wasn’t right.

As Bond stood, watching from beneath a tree across the narrow road, he noticed that three men dressed in dark clothing were walking purposefully towards the building. They stopped and one of them pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket, and then rang a few random buzzers next to the mailbox. The doors opened, and they looked around before walking inside.

Bond was at the doorway in seconds, catching it quietly before the door could close completely. The men were already tucked into an elevator. The doors closed, and they began to ascend into the building.

As quickly as he could, Bond began to take the steps that wound upwards through the apartment two at a time. When he was a floor below Q’s (Bond refused to admit that he had looked up Q’s home address. It was instinct; that was all. Nothing weird or unusual) he heard the men exit the elevator and walk across the creaky floorboards. Then, they loudly kicked in a doorway.

By the time that Bond had reached the fifth floor, one of the doorways was open, the door swinging free of one hinge. He could hear a scuffle from inside of the room. He rushed over and peered into the flat, and his stomach dropped.

They were in Q’s flat, which was still in the early stages of being unpacked. Q was on his knees with a gun pointed at his head, and he was being bound by the wrists and ankles. He had been gagged already, and his glasses lay broken on the floor a few feet away. A trickle of blood ran down his face from his left brow.

The men did not notice Bond until after he had fired his first shot, when the man with the gun to Q’s head fell to the ground. Q shook his head at Bond’s wildly, his neck thick from a constrained scream that could not leave his throat. Immediately, one of the men began to return gunfire, but only managed to put a few holes in the wall behind Bond before he shot him first in the kneecap, and then in the skull.

Bond looked around, but could not find the third man. Q was struggling to get lose on the floor, his eyes wild. Bond put a finger to his lips in an effort to silence Q, who was making quite a bit of noise despite the gag, but he only shook his head wildly in return. Suddenly, a door swung open and the third man entered the room. He carried a young boy in his arms, who was crying and kicking wildly in white footie-pajamas covered in train cars. He had dark, curly hair.

“Let me take the nerd and I’ll leave the kid.” The man said, wrapping his arms around the little boy tightly so that he whimpered and cried harder. Bond kept his gun pointed at the man, but he didn’t have a clean shot with the child blocking the man’s torso and his kicking feet swinging in front of the man’s legs.

“Put the kid down, and we’ll discuss it.” Bond countered.

“What, do you think I’m stupid?” The man leered. “Do you want a dead kid on your hands? He ain’t worth nothing to us.”

Bond realized then that the only way to get a clean shot was to create a distraction. He kept the gun pointed directly at the man, but jerked it to the side just before he squeezed the trigger. Q screamed through his gag, and the man ducked away from the gunshot, carrying the child with him. When the man showed Bond his back, Bond took a second shot. This one went directly through his spine, causing the little boy to tumble from his arms.

Before anything else, Bond grabbed the man and drug him away from the boy and Q, stuffing him into a closet until he could contact MI6 for transport. Then, Bond turned to Q and began to pull off the silver duct tape around his wrists and ankles. Once Q’s hands were free, he jerked the gag off of his mouth and began to scramble towards the little boy, who he scooped up into his arms and held closely. Bond watched as Q cried openly, kissing and hugging the child.

“You have a son.” Bond said quietly. Q looked up at him, his face streaked with tears, and nodded.

By the time MI6 had come to take away the surviving attacker, Bond had made Q a cup of tea and was sitting down with him on the sofa. The little boy was resting in Q’s lap, his head balanced against the arm of the sofa.

“His mother died.” Q explained, brushing a hand through the little boy’s hair. “She was my sister. Got knocked up by some bloke who took off and then died in delivery. Our parents died years ago, so there was only me.”

“I’m sorry.” Bond said, looking down at the little boy.

“Don’t be. He’s one of the best things to ever happen to me.” Q said, smiling sadly. “I thought when I took this job we would be more secure. I could send him to the best preschools and hire educated nannies and make up for how terrible I am at keeping bad things from happening to him. But I guess I’ll never be able to make that happen.”

Bond reached over and took Q’s free hand and squeezed it lightly. For the first of what would become many long nights together, he just sat there quietly and watched Q look down at his son, wanting only the best for the little boy who had already seen too much.


	4. Gossip

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Q and Eve being all bros and talking about Bond without him knowing"

“Does he always wear those suits?” Q asked, leaning sideways on the bar towards Moneypenny. Not Moneypenny. Eve. You called friends by their first names, right? Even if they’re a part of Her Majesty’s Secret Service?

“The man ran through Turkey in everything but a tie!” Eve laughed. “Hell, I’ve seen him match his bloody suspenders to his shirts.”

Q took a long drink from his pint to cover his laugh.

“You’ve got to admit, though-“ He began, setting down his glass. “He’s got a bit of a dashing quality to him.”

“That he does.” Eve agreed. “Which is probably the only reason why he’s still alive.”

“Well, that and because they gave you a desk job.” Q muttered.

“Sod off!” Eve landed a tough punch on Q’s shoulder. “You’ve never shot a firearm in your life!”

“Who do you think tests all of the weapons in Q branch?” Q laughed. He tried to be offended, or to at least pull his face into an exaggerated scowl, but it was no use. “I’ll have you know that my shooting skills are top notch.”

“It’s true.” Said a voice behind them. “I’ve seen him at the testing range. He can shoot almost anything, provided it stays still long enough for him to re-load the mag three or four times.”

“James! What are you doing here?” Eve asked, turning towards the agent. He was, of course, dressed in a suit, and he glanced at Q nervously before he sat down at the bar next to Moneypenny.

“I overheard you two making plans.” He said, gesturing to the bartender. “I guess I was jealous.” He winked.

The bartended came over and handed Bond a bottle after shucking the cap with a opener behind the bar. Bond handed over a few small bills and raised his bottle to Eve and Q before he took a drink. Q watched Bond’s mouth on the bottle, and suddenly felt heat rising on his neck.

“So what have I missed?” Bond asked, setting the bottle down.

“N-not much.” Q said, trying to force confidence into his voice. “We were just discussing Turkey.”

“Dreadful place” Bond said. “Their train system is very chaotic.”

Q shook his head, marveling at how cavalier Bond could be about the mission that nearly killed him. It hadn’t been until after Bond was declared “presumed dead” that Q had joined MI6, and the figurative ghost of Bond had lingered over the entire complex. It made the whole place rather intimidating to work for, considering their most sacred agent had come and gone and Q had never met him. Now, though, Q missed the peace of mind that came with not knowing Bond. The man had presence, and it was distracting.

Bond drained the last of his beer and straightened his tie.

“Be back.” E said, standing and heading over to the restroom. Q watched him go. He noticed how Bond scanned the entire room as he walked, observing calmly but still taking in everything. When he reached for the bathroom door, Q could swear that he saw the bulge of a holster at Bond’s side, but he couldn’t be sure. He shook his head a little and then turned to Eve.

“Does he even know how not to be a double-oh anymore?” Q marveled.

“What do you mean?” Eve asked.

“He can’t be in a normal place without scoping it. And he couldn’t just ask to tag along tonight, he had to just show up. Like he needed the bloody element of surprise or something.”

“Don’t be so hard on the guy, Q.” Eve said, placing a gentle hand on his knee. It was a sisterly sort of gesture, the movement of someone who thought they knew more than you did. “He’s never really known the benefit of friends, has he? He only connects with people long enough to get them killed.”

“I just don’t understand why… I mean, he doesn’t even like me very much. I’m too spotty. Why would he come out here?” Q asked. Eve knit her brow in confusion, and Q knew that the jumbled thoughts in his own mind were not becoming any clearer once they were released into discussion. He avoided clarification by taking another drink.

“He likes you just fine, Q.” Eve said. And then her hand was back on his leg, and her eyes had an irritating, knowing look. “Trust me.”

“Trust what?” Bond asked, returning to the table.


	5. The Stress of the Job

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Q cries himself to sleep because of job stress and Bond visits at midnight and fluff ensues.

It had been another rough day at the office. What a fucking understatement. Q was a computer genius, he wasn’t afraid to admit it, but the goddamn pressure of everything he had to do in a day; decrypt files, monitor computer systems that would make most men pull out their own hair, manage all of Q branch, not to mention keeping his bloody agents alive. All of that, every day, squeezed into the 12 hours that he spent underground at MI6. It was not what he signed up for. Was it? He didn’t quite know anymore.

As had become his custom, Q shed his layers of work clothes immediately after he got back to his flat. He climbed into a pair of workout sweats and pulled a soft cotton v-neck over his head. His body was comfortable, but his brain was still in overdrive as he lit a cigarette and stood at his kitchen window, watching the rain fall on London. He could hear his cat purring contentedly on a chair somewhere, and he felt a pang of jealousy.

Q crawled into bed around eleven and laid awake, staring at the ceiling. He felt the panic slowly mounting in his chest- he had barely gotten through that day, and he would have to get up in only a handful of hours and do it over again tomorrow. And the day after that. And then another after that. After all, it was only fucking Tuesday.

He tried to fight the panic in his chest, but that only made it worse. Soon it was crawling out of his throat in the form of a helpless sob. Again. How bloody pathetic.

Here you are, crying yourself to sleep for the third night in a row, you pathetic little shit. He berated himself mentally as the sobs wracked his body. He could feel the tears on his face, but they felt as if they were taunting him.

There was no way of knowing how long he laid like that; crying and staring at the ceiling. It wasn’t until he heard a strange clicking sound at his window that he realized he was still awake, and hadn’t slipped off into some torturous dream world. At first, Q ignored the sound. Then, when he heard his bedroom window scrape open, he froze.

I am about to be burgled. He thought. I am about to be burgled and the last thing I’ve done today is have a bit of a cry. There’s an obituary to be proud of.

Of course, Q couldn’t remain frozen for very long. A strange person was beginning to crawl through his bedroom window. With a sickened thought, he realized that he had brought some of the more sensitive computer discs home with him that evening. The kind that were in high demand among terrorists everywhere. And he had brought them back to his flat.

Sl0wly, Q reached underneath his pillow and pulled out his gun, rolling over in bed to aim it at the figure coming in through his window.

“Easy there, Q.” Bond threw up his hands, eyes wide. “Who in the hell gave you a gun?”

“What are you doing here?” Q asked, desperately trying to wipe the tears away from his face. He felt like a snot-nosed schoolboy.

“You seemed upset when you left today.” Bond said by way of explanation. “I wanted to make sure you were alright.”

“I left work nearly six hours ago, Bond.” Q said.

“Ah, well- I stopped for a drink on my way over. Maybe two. Or five. Some of those may have been doubles. Hard to say.” Bond shrugged. That was about when Q noticed that Bond reeked of alcohol.

“Oh bloody hel- you’re drunk.” Q sighed, getting out of bed. He left his gun on his bedside table. That was when he noticed one of Bond’s “And you’re bleeding!”

“There’s a broken bit of wire at the bottom of the fire escape.” Bond explained.

“Brilliant.” Q said. “Come on then.”

He led Bond into the bathroom and began to wash out the wound, first with soap and water and then with alcohol. Bond hissed a little at the sting, but didn’t complain. He even left Q wrap the wound in gauze, staring at Q intensely as he worked.

“You’ve been crying.” Bond said suddenly.

“Have not. You’re just pissed.” Q muttered, tying off the bandage.

“Q. Q what’s wrong?” Bond asked, holding Q’s jaw and turning his head towards him.

“Bugger off, Bond.” Q said. He shrugged off Bond’s hands and left the bathroom, flicking the light out behind him. “Door’s out towards the front. Feel free to use it.” He called over his shoulder. He crawled into bed and pulled the sheets high up on his shoulders.

A few minutes later, he felt the bed sag as Bond crawled into it. He was about to say something when he felt Bond’s body pressed up against him from behind. Strong arms wrapped around his waist. Q hated to admit it- even to himself- but he instantly felt calmer.

“It’ll be okay, you know.” Bond whispered, rubbing his cheek along Q’s shoulder. Q could feel stubble through his t-shirt.

“Come off it, Bond. You’re drunk.” Q sighed.

“Q, it’s hard at first, but it’ll get easier. You’re doing fine.” Bond said soothingly. His hands brushed against Q’s stomach, and a shot of electricity rose up Q’s chest. “You have lovely hair.” Bond added. Q smiled.

“Always the charmer.” Q said. He put one of his hands on top of Bond’s, and was surprised when the agent did not pull away.

“hmmm.” Bond mumbled softly.

Q wondered how Bond could be so calming, even with his level of intoxication, knowing that his Quartermaster was a blubbering mess when he wasn’t coding or handing out weaponry like lollipops to all the good little double-ohs.

Quietly, Q pressed himself backwards a little bit to be closer to Bond. Between his own haze of turmoil, and Bond’s haze of alcohol, this was almost okay. The touching. But Q had no idea where to go from here. Before he could figure it out, however, he fell asleep.

He woke up the next morning turned towards Bond, his head against his chest and Bond’s arms wrapped tight around his waist.


	6. Consoling Bond

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Q comforts Bond after M’s death.”

He had held himself together long enough to be debriefed. He made it through the funeral, the burial, and even the private memorial service that was held at MI6. Then he stopped showing up to headquarters. He didn’t answer his cell phone, and the lights never went on in his flat.

Q had a feeling even before Moneypenny knocked quietly on his door that he would eventually end up at Bond’s doorstep. Moneypenny and Tanner liked Bond plenty, but Moneypenny had nearly killed the agent on M’s orders, which wasn’t something that I grieving man would forget. Tanner, on the other hand, was directly in charge of protecting M, and that had failed as well. Unlike them, Q already knew what it was like to try and keep Bond alive. That the responsibility now included making sure that Bond hadn’t drunk himself to death out of grief seemed perfectly logical.

“James!” Q pounded on the block door. When there was no answer, he grabbed the ring dangling from the golden lion’s head doorknocker and knocked again. “I know you’re in there! Don’t make me break in!” He yelled.

There was a heavy thump on the other side of the door. A few seconds later Q listened as a few latches were pulled free from their locked positions. The door opened about a foot, and Bond’s head appeared from out of the darkness

He looked like absolute shit. His eyes were rimmed with red and there was a week’s worth of stubble on his cheeks. Dark purple shadows were blooming around his eyes. The overall effect was a sunken quality that was now present in the man’s face.

“Q.” Bond said.

“I drew the short straw.” Q said, holding up the grocery bag that was in his arms. “I hope you like Italian.”

Bond nodded and stepped aside, widening the opening so that Q could step inside.

The inside of the flat was a mess. Blankets and glasses and bottles were everywhere. It was immediately evident that whatever stock of alcohol Bond had had was gone. Q figured that the scotch had gone first, followed by rum, tequila, and vodka. It wasn’t until Q nearly fell over a bottle of gin and landed on a can of Guinness that he began to wonder if any of the local liquor establishments were profiting from Bond’s grief.

Slowly, Q made his way into the kitchen. Dirty dishes were piled everywhere, and old take away containers had overtaken the counter, the small table, and were piled a foot high over the bin. He refrained from asking Bond where he could put the groceries, and instead just pushed aside the rubbish and tried to create a clean place.

Bond was watching Q from the kitchen doorway, but his eyes were clouded and there was an evident lack of awareness that was terrifying to see in the agent. Q turned away from Bond and began to clear the take away. He washed a few pots and pans and began to prepare dinner, waiting until the chicken was frying to turn towards the sink and begin washing what was left in the basin.

By the time Q had flipped the chicken and moved it into the oven to cook with marinara and mozzarella, he had nearly finished all of the dishes. He cleared the rubbish and took it to the dumpster behind the building. When he got back into the kitchen, he found Bond setting the newly-cleared kitchen table quietly.

“Why don’t you go shower?” Q suggested. He could smell the alcohol on Bond, in addition to the stale smell of cigar smoke. While a part of him wanted Bond to look affronted and tell Q to shove it, he was relieved when Bond only rolled his eyes and padded off down the hall.

By the time that Bond returned, damp and clean but still unshaven and clearly sleep deprived, Q had set a plate of chicken on the table and dumped one of those salad-in-a-bag concoctions from Tesco into a bowl. Bond sat down, and they ate in complete silence.

Q spent the rest of the evening tidying up Bond’s flat while Bond followed him vacantly, sort of like a puppy, but without any verifiable excitement or even any vague interest. It wasn’t until everything was more or less cleared that Q looked around and wasn’t sure what to do next.

“Uh… well there’s leftovers in the fridge, so I suppose you’ll be alright from here.” Q said, looking around. He found a scrap of paper and a pen and scribbled on it.

“I’m leaving my number here- my real one, mind you, so you’ll reach me wherever I am, not just at MI6- and you can call me if you need anything. I’ll be back tomorrow.” Q said. He turned and clapped Bond on the arm. Bond nodded, and Q left, feeling as if he was leaving something very important behind.

Q returned home, changed out of his work clothes, fed his cat, and fucked around online for a few hours before going to bed promptly at 11. Three hours later, his cell phone rang.

“’Lo?” Q croaked.

“Q.” It was Bond. He sounded distant, but still closer than he had been earlier that day.

“Bond. What’s wrong?” Q asked, sitting upright. He flicked on his bedside lamp.

“Uh… nothing.” Bond said after a second. “Just… sorry, we’ll talk later.”

The line went dead. Q sighed, got out of bed, and began to get dressed.

Forty-five minutes later Q was once again standing on Bond’s doorstep, this time empty handed. He knocked at the door. Bond answered almost immediately. Q didn’t wait for Bond to let him in, he just pushed inside. After Bond closed the door behind him, Q walked through the main room and into the kitchen to put on a kettle for tea.

“Have you been drinking?” Q asked, checking the sink and counters for empty bottles. He didn’t find any.

“No.” Bond replied. “I ran out.”

“Well I bloody well believe that one.” Q muttered. “Christ, Bond. You’re lucky you’re alive with how drunk you must have been. What were you thinking?”

“Don’t lecture me, Q.” Bond said tiredly. On the stove, the kettle began to make hollow popping sounds- the song of water flurrying just before the boil. “I’m not a child.”

“Then get your shit together!” Q said. He scrounged through the cupboards and brought down two mugs. “Bond it’s okay to be sad but-“

“ I fucking know it’s okay to be sad, you arse!” Bond said suddenly, slamming a hand into the doorframe. The kettle began to steam and whistle. “Do you have any idea what I’ve lost? What it was like to try so goddamn hard and have her die anyway? Can you even-“

Bond cut himself off, his nostrils flared and his breath coming out in desperate, angry huffs. The kettle screeched through the sudden silence until Q flicked off the stove. Bond turned around as if to walk away, and then turned back.

“You don’t-“ A pause. “You have no idea.” He said. His voice was small.

“I know, James.” Q said quietly. He poured the water into the mugs and handed one to Bond. “But that doesn’t mean I can’t be here for you anyway. You just have to keep yourself together enough so that I can help you.”

They drank their tea, and this time they spoke across the table. Bond talked about M and the loss of her and who she was to him; a mother, maybe. A guidepost. Almost a friend. She believed in him, in the end, when he himself had begun to doubt his abilities. And then she died. Despite everything. Q listened, asked questions when he thought he needed to, and stayed quiet when he didn’t. By the time their mugs were empty, Bond seemed closer. Q could reach out and touch him, sure, but he could also access a part of Bond.

“I’m sorry you had to come so late.” Bond said when Q got up to put the mugs in the sink. “And thank you for everything earlier. I’m sorry I was so sodding drunk.”

“Bond, I’m your Quartermaster. It’s my job to make sure you’re pulling through.” Q said.

“I didn’t think that rehabilitating an old war ship was in your job description, Q.” Bond said with a weak smile.

“It’s my job as your friend, Bond. As someone who knows how you work. I was trying to save her too, you know. Maybe not for the same reasons, but damn it if I didn’t try.” Q walked over and placed a hand on Bond’s shoulder. He was surprised when Bond didn’t push him away.

“Thank you.” Bond said. He stood, and looked Q in the eye. “Really.”

When it came down to it in the end, Q couldn’t bring himself to leave Bond alone. Instead, he waited until Bond went to sleep in his room, and then Q crashed on the sofa. He didn’t want Bond to wake up alone.

It would take two weeks to get Bond in good enough shape to go back to work. But it only took two days for Q to stop having to clean, and cook. Instead, he only comforted. And after a few more days passed, he moved from the sofa to Bond’s bed, tracing patterns on the agent’s chest as Bond took comfort in a new consistency; a new guidepost- Q.


	7. Frenzy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Q has a hidden crush in Bond, and lately, Bond’s been sleeping with women in his mission. And then Q gets jealous, and refuse to have anything to do with Bond.

“So I hear your boyfriend is out in the field again.” Moneypenny joked with Q, who was making himself a cup of tea in the oddly modern break room of MI6.

“You need to stop calling him my boyfriend, Eve.” Q said, taking a sip from his mug. “Honestly, I have no idea where you came up with such a ridiculous idea.”

“How is it ridiculous?” Moneypenny asked. “You very clearly fancy him, I’ve seen the looks you give him!”

“Those looks are called rage, Moneypenny.” Q said. “Caused largely by Bond’s inability to bring back a single stitch of equipment that I give him.”

“Those looks are called lust, Q. And I’m not the only one who sees them. Half of Q Branch gossips about it during their lunch.”

“Brilliant.” Q sighed. “And here I thought that MI6 would be devoid of boring office politics.”

“Oh sweetie, don’t be naive.” Moneypenny said, patting Q on the shoulder. “If anything, we’re worse.”

Two hours later, Q was standing in the main room of Q Branch with Bond on speaker and a microphone hooked to him.

“The mobile signal is coming from the person just ahead of you, slightly to your left.” He said, staring at the computer screen. He had managed to hack into the phone of one of the terrorist agents. As it turned out, they were smart enough to avoid detection in every airport by memorizing the blind spots of every camera, but were so utterly shit at directions that they turned on a GPS application on their mobile. It had taken Q less than a minute to reverse the signal from the satellite to the phone and not only track the phone itself, but upload where it was trying to go.

“there are three people to my left, Q. Do you want to narrow that down?” Bond replied through his earpiece.

“I don’t exactly have a map of all of the people in the room, Bond. I’ll need you to get closer to the- yes. Right on your right.”

The map on the screen showed Bond directly juxtaposed to the target. A collective sigh of relief went through the others in Q branch. Q waved at them to be quiet.

“Okay Bond, we need to ID them and figure out who they’re working for.” Q said, pulling up a program on one of the three laptops that he had in front of him. “See if you can get close enough for voice recognition. That would make this quite simple.”

“Thanks for the tip, mum. Tell Grandpa Em I say hello.” Bond replied. A moment later, Q heard him speaking to the person next to him.

“Can I buy you a drink?” Bond’s words rang through Q Branch. Q groaned and put his hand to his brow.

“Of course it’s a bloody woman.” He said. “Can you try not to sleep with this one, Bond? We’re on a bit of a schedule.”

“If you’d like.” Came the response from the woman. Instantly Q began to try and get a read on her voice. The computer plugged away, looking for a vocal match.

“Another drink for the lady, please.” Bond said. “And I’ve have a martini- Three measures of Gordon’s, one of vodka, half a measure of Kina Lillet. Shaken, not stirred.”

“That’s quite a drink.” The woman said.

“Yes. How impressive of you to get drunk on the job, Bond.” Q quipped. The laptop next to him beeped, and three faces were pulled up on the screen. All of the pictures were dated wirthin the last two weeks.

“My tastes are particular.” Bond said. Q could just imagine the wink that he almost certainly gave to this girl.

“Okay Bond, the database has this girl as either a medium-length brunette, a blonde, or with a pixie cut. Pixie cut and the Blonde should be about 5’4, the brunette is 5’9.

“That’s a very bold choice, your haircut. Not many girls try to pull of the newsie look.” Bond said.

“I suppose that just makes me particularly courageous.” The woman replied.

“Bingo.” Q said. “We are looking at Alicia Turner. Rogue CIA agent frequently out for hire on missions for the Phillipines. Apparently she spent a summer there and liked what she saw. I’m giving you to the room now, Bond. I’m going to need to report this to M immediately.”

Q gestured to one of the technicians at the first bank of computers- a promising woman named Janet- and instructed her to page him immediately if something went wrong. As he went to leave, Moneypenny came in the room.

“Oh good.” Q said, looking at her. “Watch the children, will you? Somehow even though he’s on assignment, leaving them alone with Bond seems like asking the fox to care for the henhouse.”

Moneypenny laughed, and Q brushed past her to report the target’s identity to Mallory.

When Q returned to Q Branch twenty minutes later, the entire room was silent except for incredibly heavy breathing, which was being broadcast over the speakerphone. Moneypenny turned to Q, horror on her face. Color rose high in Q’s cheeks as feminine groaning filled the room.

“Take it off speaker.” Q ordered.

“We can’t disconnect.” Moneypenny said. “What if something happens?”

“Fine.” Q snapped, walking towards the front of the room. He slid an earpiece in his ear and flicked it on. “Turn off the bloody speaker, I’ve got it covered.”

For the next fifteen minutes, the entirety of Q branch avoided looking at Q as he stood at the table in the front of the room, listening to Bond have sex. Q tried to continue doing work, mapping out a plan of attack for Bond, but his hands were shaking too badly, listening to the moans of the rogue agent. His neck had blushed a deep red, and when Moneypenny walked over to him, he waved her off.

Mercifully, Bond and the agent-Alicia- finished. Q listened to their pillow talk, self-loathing and embarrassment filling every pore of his body. He was a fucking computer genius. He could do things with technology that no one else in the world could even consider. And here he was, listening to 007 fuck some random woman while the entirety of Q Branch watched him bear witness. It was enough. He was done.

“Assign him to someone else.” Q rasped finally, looking over at Moneypenny. “I don’t care who.

Moneypenny nodded, and Q stormed out of the room.


	8. The Price

It was nearly three days later when Bond found Q in the basement of an abandoned apartment complex in Malaysia.

“Q!” Bond shouted, rushing through the dimness.

“Bond. Please.” Q sobbed quietly. He was on his knees facing a wall, arms outstretched above him, chained to a radiator.

In a matter of seconds Q could feel the warmth of Bond’s hands on his bare back, which was bruised and bloody. Q drew in a breath, hissed tight between his teeth, as Bond kneeled on the cement floor next to him. He ran his hands through Q’s matted hair, speaking to the young Quartermaster softly.

“You’re okay. You’ll be okay.” Bond said. He began to pick the lock on the cuffs, holding back the nausea that rolled over him when he saw the ruined skin on Q’s wrists.

“Bond, they got the drive. You need to go after them or we’ll lose it.” Q rasped. He tried to keep himself still so that Bond could pick the lock on the cuffs, but his hands were trembling too hard for him to settle them.

“I’m not leaving you.” Bond said lowly. “Not again. Q, I’m so sorry.”

With a loud click, the clasp of the handcuffs released, and Q immediately sagged to the floor. Bond gingerly reached out and pulled Q against his chest, supporting his head with his shoulder.

Bond held Q close, feeling the much younger man breathing against him.

“Thank you for finding e.” Q whispered, and Bond’s heart felt as if it were breaking. It was his fault that Q had been captured, tortured, beaten so badly that his back was a kaleidoscope of blooming bruises.

This was the price of falling in love with James Bond.


	9. A Guide

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bond feels protective of Q.

“We’re sending Q on assignment in Spain.” Moneypenny told Bond in what she had thought seemed to be in an offhand fashion. Bond’s relief that she had been taken out of field work was refreshed upon realizing how shit she was at being sly. “There’s a securities firm that Mallory needs hacked.”

“Isn’t that a bit like sending the rodent after the viper?” Bond asked, alarmed.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Bond. It’s a very simple assignment, up until all of the computer nonsense comes in. He’ll be fine.” Moneypenny said. “He’s out with Tanner getting things in order as we speak.”

“Where’s Mallory?” Bond asked her.

“In his offi-“ Bond spun on his heel and marched briskly up to Mallory- M’s- office.

“Bond. I didn’t send for-“ M said when Bond entered the room. He was seated at his desk, pouring over paperwork.

“I’d like a word.” Bond said. He towered over Mallory when the man was seated. Genuine confusion crossed M’s face, but he leaned back in his chair and nodded to Bond all the same.

“You’re sending Q to Spain.” Bond said.

“Yes. Madrid. How do you-“

“I want you to send me with him.” Bond insisted.

“That’s highly unnecessary, 007. We’re confident that he can handle everything just fine on his own.”

“He’s a valuable asset to MI6. I feel strongly that he shouldn’t be sent on assignment alone.” Bond said, firmly.

It took twenty minutes to wear M down. In the end, though, M sent Bond out to meet Tanner and Q to be briefed.

When Bond arrived at the shooting range, Q was holding a weapon in hand and an instructor was showing him how to reload it at top speed. Q’s shoulders were rigid with concentration, and even from a distance Bond could see the poorly hidden panic in his face. When Q noticed Bond approaching, his ears turned scarlet and he began to mumble to the instructor about taking a rest. Tanner, who was standing a few meters away, looked wary.

“I need to be briefed for the assignment in Spain. M’s orders.” Bond said.

“They’re sending Q.” Tanner said slowly.

“And myself.”

“One moment.” Tanner said, leaving the room.

Bond turned to Q and the instructor and began to help Q reload his weapon.

“It’s all about catching the rhythm.” Bond explained, taking the gun from Q- letting their hands linger together for a few seconds- and completing the range of motion.

“Like this?” Q tried again, and was successful, albeit slow.

“Perfect.” Bond grinned at Q. Q gave him a small, nervous wink, and tried again. Some of the tension in his shoulders had begun to dissipate, and when Tanner returned with the news that Bond was in fact going to Spain, Q’s nervousness seemed to disappear completely.


	10. Sordid Pasts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Established relationship. Q loves James but he thinks James will always be in love with Vesper.

At first, the man on Bond’s computer screen meant nothing to Q. He had been hauled in to MI6 from Kazan, Russia and charged with the multiple crimes that went with being a member of the terrorist organization Quantam. The only thing that really drew Q’s attention was the fact that Bond was tracking him in the first place.

He didn’t know very much about Bond’s life before Q had become his Quartermaster. There were the small things that Bond told him here or there, when they were at dinner or lying in bed at night. Bond talked about his childhood sometimes, and his early days at MI6. Once, he had mentioned Vesper Lynd, but changed the subject so quickly afterwards that Q hadn’t asked again.

“Tanner, who is Yusef Kabira?” Q asked the next day. He had just come out of a meeting with M, and Tanner was walking with him to Q Branch to inspect a prototype.

“He was a member of Quantam.” Tanner said. “He would lure female agents from different organizations and seduce them, and would fake his own kidnapping to turn the women into double agents.”

“Is he connected to Bond at all?” Q asked. Tanner cast a sideways glance at him.

“Bond’s the one that brought him to MI6.” Tanner said, cautiously.

“Then why isn’t Bond connected with Kabira in Kabira’s file?” Q asked. “Bond or the double-oh program isn’t listed as connected with his arrest at all. It just says MI6.”

They entered Q Branch and walked through the offices and down towards the armory.

“Kabira’s arrest was not technically connected with an assignment of Bonds.” Tanner said after a moment of silence. His tone was low, and he glanced around the empty room before speaking. “Bond had acted on special interest, and M had felt that it was better not to connect Bond to the arrest explicitly.”

“Why?” Q asked.

“Because Yusef Kabira was the man who got Vesper Lynd killed.” Tanner said finally. Q just nodded.

Later on that evening Q walked into his own flat and was unsurprised to find Bond there, sitting on the sofa with his cat, Schrodinger. They had exchanged keys the month previously, mainly because Q was afraid that eventually one of his neighbors would report that a tall blond man was picking the lock to his front door.

“How is it that you always end up working later than me?” Bond asked jokingly. He stood and walked over to Q, sliding his hands beneath Q’s dark coat and pulling the slightly younger man close to his body. Q allowed himself to be brought in for the kiss, and even savored the taste of Bond’s tongue sliding across his own, before he gently disengaged.

“It takes quite a bit, cleaning up the messes that you double-ohs leave behind for us.” Q said, shrugging off his coat and heading into the kitchen. He pulled a beer from the fridge and chucked the bottle cap into the sink. He took a swig and wandered back into the main room, where Bond had settled back onto the sofa. Schrodinger jumped down and wandered off, pausing only long enough to bunt against Q’s legs as he passed.

“Field work gets dirty.” Bond said with a sly smile. He sat the way that a man who didn’t know how to relax would sit- slouched a little bit not far enough, both feet on the ground, one hand tapping on the edge of the sofa. Q, on the other hand, kicked off his shoes and curled his feet against the cushion and propped his back against the arm. He didn’t confuse Bond’s demeanor as uncomfortable anymore, not the way he had when they had first gotten together.

“Apparently.” Q said. He took a long pull from his beer. He paused for a moment, considering, and then pressed forward.

“So I overheard some gossip today.” Q began.

“Was it as enthralling as you could have hoped?” Bond asked. He reached down and began to rub the ball of Q’s foot in small circles.

“They were talking about a MI6 extraction in Kazan, Russia a few years ago.” Q said. “Apparently you had something to do with it. But I don’t remember seeing that particular part of Russia in your assignment history.” Bond stopped rubbing at Q’s foot, and he st up straighter.

“You’re a bloody terrible liar, Q.” Bond said. “What’re you on about?”

“Nothing.” Q said, standing up. “I’m going to grab a shower.”

The hot water did nothing to clear Q’s furiously spinning mind. Why was James looking at Kabira’s profile the other night? If he went after the man as a personal vendetta- revenge against Vesper- then what did it say that James was still keeping tabs on him?

The only realization the Q could come to was crushing.

James Bond was still in love with Vesper Lynd.

How could Q compete with that? The inflated, perfect portrayal of a girl whose flaws would be erased by her tragic death made Q’s idiosyncratic lifestyle as a computer nerd seem even worse by comparison. Clearly James was settling, out of a broken heart, or for some other reason.

Of course, his knee-jerk reaction was to leave. To break up with Bond, and go find gainful employment for some computer start-up that posted pictures of mustachioed cats. But deep in Q’s gut, he knew that he wouldn’t leave. Not yet. He loved Bond too much, and he’d rather put up with a broken shell of the man he had come to love than not have him at all.

Q turned off the water and toweled dry. He padded into the bedroom and was surprised to see Bond in there, sitting on the edge of the bed. His elbows rested on his knees, and his hands were clasped together, resting near his mouth.

“James.” Q said, stopping in the doorway. “What’s wrong?”

“Someone told you about Kabira killing Vesper.” Bond said. It wasn’t a question, and it wasn’t an accusation. Q didn’t know how to sidestep it.

“Yes.” Q said. He gripped the towel tighter around his waist.

“And so I assume that means you looked into Vesper a bit?” Bond asked.

“No, I didn’t.” Q said, surprised. “I figured it wasn’t really my business.”

Bond looked surprised by this. Q knew why- it was because Bond would have gone through whatever files he could get his hands on if he was in Q’s position. But Q’s days of spying into places purely because he could access them had slowly trickled to an end; at MI6, you were more likely to come across something you didn’t want to see than anything else. Kabira’s file had been a slight exception- Q hadn’t pulled the file up, only looked at it- and it still felt too much like prying.

“Kabira killed Vesper, so I had him captured.” Bond said. “But it took everything I had to let him go. I would have preferred to have killed him.”

It didn’t shock Q to hear Bond speak so candidly about murder- he was the one who supplied the agent his weapons, after al. But the candid nature of the conversation had taken him slightly aback.

“So I peek into his file now and again. To see if he’s still alive, to decide whether maybe I should have killed him anyway. I don’t do it often- and I’m not entirely sure why I do it at all, but I do.” Bond said. He looked up at Q, his eyes portraying only raw emotion.

“Because you still love Vesper.” Q said. He shivered a little- his hair was dripping cool water onto his shoulders.

Bond looked at Q, his face unreadable.

“I loved Vesper. But that was a long time ago.” Bond said. “I don’t love her anymore.”

“Please don’t lie, James.” Q said. His voice was soft. “Not to me.”

Bond stood, and walked over to Q. He pushed a damp strand of hair away from Q’s eyes and kissed him gently.

“I’m not lying, Q.” Bond said. “I promise.”

And so Q decided to believe him. Because it was easier, and because he needed to.


	11. Red

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Q and bond go out to a pub or something and Bond has to go do something (your choice idk!) and Q gets chatted up by some random dude. Bond does not take kindly to this

“When’s the last time you’ve been out?” Bond asked Q, leading him to the pub with his hand on the low of his back.

“I go out.” Q said.

“Food shopping doesn’t count.” Bond said, and Q sucked his lower lip thoughtfully.

“I went out to breakfast with Moneypenny last week.” Q said. They had reached the pub, and Bond held the door open.

“MI6 meetings don’t count, darling.” Bond whispered in Q’s ear as they stepped into the queue at the entryway. Bond signaled to the waitress for a table for two, and after a few moments they were seated next to the bar.

“Hell.” Bond muttered. His cell phone had begun to ring. He glanced down, and frowned apologetically at Q. “It’s M. I’ve got to take this.”

“Go. I’ll order for you.” Q said, waving Bond off.

“I’ll take a-“

“Gin martini dry, shaken and not stirred, with a zest of lemon.” Q finished his sentence. “Don’t keep M waiting.”

Bond grinned and left the table, going to the alley next to the building to take the call.

When he returned five minutes later, a waitress was placing two drinks on the table next to Q. He paused on his way over to the table when he watched as the waitress walked away quickly. She paused only to shoot a confused look at Q, who seemed incredibly uncomfortable. Immediately, Bond noticed a very drunk man leaning close to his Quartermaster, one arm draped over his shoulder and the other under the table, sliding towards the inside of Q’s thigh.

“I think you should go.” Q was saying to the man, trying to shrug him off. The drunken man leered and slid his hand farther up Q’s leg, causing him to jump and squirm. Bond could see a blush growing on Q’s face. “Seriously, get off.” Q shook him off harder. To the Quartermaster’s credit, had the man been averagely built and perhaps a little bit more sober, he probably would have been able to handle the situation just find on his own. But as it was, Q was stooped under the weight of the man, and any sense of decorum had apparently disappeared.

Bond began to push through the crowd, and made it to the table in record time.

“Who’re you?” The man asked as Bond approached. A mix of relief and terror crossed Q’s face.

“I’m his boyfriend.” Bond said, reaching across the table to take Q’s hand. He squeezed it reassuringly, and stepped even closer to the drunken man. “Get off of him. Now.”

“Easy man, I was just having a go.” The drunk man raised his hands away from Q, and Q visibly inflated with relief. Bond stared at him, his entire face pulled into harsh lines. “Wasn’t really looking to shag a little bitch anyway.”

Q winced, and ran a hand across his brow. Bond gave his hand another small squeeze and then pulled away. With one hand, he grabbed the man by the collar and carried him through the pub to the alleyway outside.

Needless to say, Bond never did get his drink.


	12. Binds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Perhaps 00Q where Q isn’t working for MI6 because he wants to, but rather because they’ve somehow trapped him there (some kind of electric chip in his brain which activates if he leaves the UK maybe?) He’s not actually afraid of flying - he’s not allowed to.

There was an itch behind Q’s right ear, just where the lobe separated from his neck, and it drove him crazy.

It only itched when he wasn’t preoccupied with work, though, so Q figured that it couldn’t be too serious. That was, until the itching continued, starting up the second he left MI6 and continuing until he got his hands on a computer for coding or some other related work for Her Majesty’s Secret Service.

The MI6 medical staff had checked him over numerous times, and each time had reported that there was only a rash; perhaps an irritation from his glasses, or maybe just stress from the job, either way, it wasn’t anything terribly pressing at he should just get back to work as per usual.

A month into his employment at MI6, Q had begun to date 007. It was a tentative relationship, but in their own way they were happy enough to be getting on with.

Bond was the first one to mention the itching.

“Why’re you always playing with your ear?” He asked Q. Q was standing in front of the mirror, brushing his teeth, and Bond had been leaning against the doorway chatting amiably.

“I dunno, just bothers me a bit I guess.” Q said with a shrug. They moved on to other topics, went to work, and it was forgotten.

Then, two months later, Q began to get headaches. They came on quickly, almost always when he was bent over his computer desk at MI6, and shot through his neck and up to his temples with cruel ferocity. Again, Q went to the MI6 medical staff, and they suggested stress as the cause.

“Are you alright?” Bond asked one afternoon. He had gone down to Q Branch to get outfitted for his next assignment, and when Q had turned on his laptop to show Bond a prototype, one of his headaches had zapped through him. He paused, one hand on the table, gasping for breath.

“Sorry, headache.” Q said, holding the right side of his neck. “It’s just stress, that’s all.”

“Q, come here.” Bond said suddenly, his voice filled with concern. He trailed his fingers up Q’s neck, just as he had hundreds of times over the last few months, and then continued until his fingers were just behind Q’s right ear.

“There’s something here.” Bond said, brow furrowing in concern.

“What?” Q panicked. “What is it?”

“Hold on-“ Bond pulled Q’s ear aside, and inspected it closely.

“You have something imbedded under the skin here.” Bond said, horrified.

“What? Get it out!” Q said, scraping his fingers up the side of his neck.

“I’ll have to slice at your-“

“I don’t care, just get the bloody thing out!” Q said.

Carefully, Bond flicked out his pocket knife and cut carefully below the small bulge of skin. A microchip slid easily into his hand, coated in a thin layer of blood.

“What the fuck is that?” Q asked, picking up the chip.

“Q, how long have you said you’ve been afraid to fly?” Bond asked, glancing over his shoulder at the CTV camera on the wall.

They needed to get out of MI6 very quickly.


	13. The Bulls-eye on Your Spine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Q becomes Bond’s next target.

“I don’t understand.” Bond said, staring at the folder. “He was debriefed and allowed to be removed from service. Why is he a target?”

“He’s taken up employment with an opposing agency.” M said tiredly. “They’ve been trying to access some of our interior files for years. Now that they’ve taken on your former Quartermaster, I dare say they’ll get what they’ve been looking for. We need to prevent this.”

“Since when do we murder as a preventative measure?” Bond asked.

“Since when do you question who is at the end of the barrel?” M challenged.

“Very well.” Bond looked down at the file. Q’s- no, Thomas Mulgrew’s- photograph was paper clipped to a basic data sheet. In less than a minute, Bond was holding more information in his hands about the man that he loved and lost than Q- damnit, Thomas- had ever shared with him.

Bond left M’s office and went to his office. It was small, with one window and a desk that sat caddy-corner to the door, facing it. He opened the file again and mulled over its contents.

So after Q had left MI6, he had spent a year and a half wiping himself from MI6’s radar. His activities displayed the extent of his paranoia; never staying somewhere for any longer than a few months, taking on odd jobs with small, start-up companies, and never taking up with anyone. Sure, there were a few one night stands recorded in the file, but nothing extensive. But by the beginning of the second year, Q had begun to slow down. By the third, he had taken up residence in London yet again and got a job as a computer programmer for a securities firm. The very firm that was outsourcing sensitive data to a private firm in Islamabad.

“Fuck.” Bond murmured, rubbing his temples. It had been his own fault that Q had left- too many sexual liaisons in the field, too much distance when he had finally come home from assignments, too much pressure trying to love a man whose entire employment was a life-threatening situation. Q had packed up his desk without a word to Bond, and was gone.

For two days, Bond tracked Q. He found his flat and watched his comings and goings. He was reminded of the little things that he’d loved about Q- how he ate Chinese food with chopsticks with expert finesse and could drink tea and code one-handed simultaneously. He watched Q get up early in the mornings and return home far too late at night, just as he had done when he worked at MI6.

On the third day, Bond broke into Q’s flat and waited for him there, gun drawn, at the small dining room table that Q had propped up against the wall outside of the kitchen. He sat in the darkness and listened to the traffic go by in the street below.

Around ten a set of keys jingled in the door, and Bond picked up the gun. He waited patiently while Q came in and shrugged off his rain-soaked coat in the darkness and flipped his laptop open on a small desk next to the door. The room became awash in blue light, and that was when Q noticed Bond. He froze.

“You’re here to kill me.” Q said, looking at the gun.

“Something like that.” Bond said, standing. The fear in Q’s eyes sent flashes of memories through Bond’s mind; their first flight on an airplane; a trip to Nepal that had gone particularly poorly, Q’s face glancing down at him while Bond lay in a hospital bed.

“Please, Bond.” Q said quietly, resigned. “Do it quick.”

“Thomas.” Bond whispered, standing close to Q. “Come with me.”

“What?”

“I’ll resign. We’ll drop off MI6’s bloody map. Please.”

Q looked at him for a moment, unsure.

“I’ve missed you, James.” He said finally. Bond smiled, leaned forward, and kissed him.

“Then come with me.” Bond said.

“Okay.”


	14. Under the Weather

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Q gets sick at work with a fever/cold…

“When is the last time you went home?” Bond asked Q. He had gone down to the lower levels of Q Branch to try and find Tanner, who had a habit of disappearing just before a scheduled briefing, and had found Q hunched over his computer instead.

“The internet connection at my flat is shit.” Q replied. He didn’t look up at Bond, just continued to type. His desk was littered with papers and napkins and old cups of tea that had gone cold.

“Q, go home.” Bond said, perching at the end of the desk. “You’re the only person at MI6 who spends all of his time in this musty old cellar instead of in the main offices. You’ll catch your death.”

“Don’t lecture me, Bond. I’m not a child.” Q said. “And get off my desk.”

“Have you seen Tanner?” Bond asked, standing upright.

“I haven’t.” Q said, still not looking up from the screen. “Shall I page Moneypenny? Maybe she’s seen him.”

“No, I’ll track him down.” Bond said. He turned and walked away. Q glanced over at the sound of Bond’s retreating footsteps, and tried him damndest not to stare at Bond’s ass. Just as Bond got to the door, he turned around. Q’s eyes shot up, and their eyes met. Bond smirked, as if he knew what Q had been doing.

“At least come up for air every so often, Q.” Bond winked. “Some of us upstairs are starting to miss you.”

***

“The door’s on your left, 007.” Q sniffled, watching the map on the screen. “Once you pass through it, there will be a hallway. Go in.”

Q sniffled again and rolled his shoulders back and forth, trying to de-fuzz his brain. There was a pressure building just behind his eyes, and a pounding in his head that had very little to do with Bond’s frequent spates of gunfire. He tugged at his collar, feeling warm.

“I’m in the hallway.” Bond said, reporting back through the communications system.

“Count three doors on your right and go through. There’s a fire escape just outside of it.” Q said. He pinched the bridge of his nose for a moment and then flicked his eyes back on the screen.

“Doors locked.” Bond reported.

“Well do you have a bloody gun or don’t you?” Q snapped. But even so, he began to search for alternate routes. Two shots were fired, and Bond was in the room.

“Lovely.” Q said. “Now go over to the window and head down the fire escape. You may want to hurry; a 999 call has been put through to emergency services.” Q said, watching the live call connect to a dispatcher. “You don’t have much time.”

“Got it.” Bond said. Q stayed on the line until he saw Bond get into a MI6 car and begin to return to headquarters.

***

Q didn’t head back to his flat until after midnight. Any time he thought to leave, something new would come up, and he found himself plugging away for another hour or four. Frankly, he felt so bloody awful that leaving his computer chair was too difficult of a task for awhile, until he finally mustered the energy to call for a car to take him home.

He shucked off his damp wool coat and tossed it into the corner. He didn’t make it any farther than his sofa when he lay down, shoes dangling over the edge of the cushion, and fell to sleep.

When he woke up the next morning, it was because his awful alarm clock was ringing by his bedside. Q shut it off and rolled over, and then sat up, puzzled. He hadn’t made it to his bed. He can’t have. Or had he? His head felt as if there were a few liters of mush swirling around inside, and he felt dizzy. Maybe he had moved into the bedroom and didn’t realize.

Tiredly, he got up and went to shuffle into his bathroom. He was still wearing his work clothes from the day before, so he shucked them off and commenced walking around in his boxer-briefs. Q brushed his teeth, splashed cool water on his face, and then paused over the sink for a few minutes, staring into the whirl of the drain.

“Q?” A voice called, and Q nearly jumped out of his skin. In his panic, he thought of the gun he had under the head of his bed, and then realized that a violent attacker may not have announced themselves so freely.

Besides, he recognized the voice. It played in his head often enough.

“Bond?” Q asked, opening his bathroom door. There, standing in the middle of his bedroom, was the double-oh. Suddenly, Q’s semi-nakedness seemed far more pronounced.

“I stopped by last night, and I saw you on your couch. It looked like you’d died.” Bond said, by way of explanation. “So I broke in.”

“What a delightful invasion of my privacy.” Q said. He wanted to be angry, truly he did, but at the moment Bond as standing in between him and his bed, and he wanted the bed far more than an altercation with Bond. “I didn’t get home until well past midnight, that’s not really a typical hour to be taking visitors.”

“You didn’t seem well. I wanted to check on you.” Bond replied.

“It sounds to me like you were going to break into my house regardless.” Q murmured, brushing past Bond to pull on a pair of grey and black flannel pajama bottoms.

“Perhaps.” Bond smiled.

“Wait, did you put me to bed?” Q asked suddenly, horrified.

“Well you couldn’t very well kip on the couch.” Bond said.

So he’s seen you nearly passed out, and he’s seen you practically naked. Why don’t we add pissed to the equation and call it a party?

“Bond, why are you here?” Q moaned. He crawled into bed, surrendering to the mystery that was now taking place around him. “Did you need something? A car, a gun? A laser that can pick locks three miles away? What?”

“I just was worried about you.” Bond said. He shifted uncomfortably, and Q realized this was the first time he had ever seen Bond less than absolutely relaxed. Bond took a step closer to the bed, and sat down on the edge of it. “You work too hard, you know.”

“I’m new.” Q said with a small cough. “I’ve got quite a bit to prove. Believe it or not, some people think I’m under-qualified for my position.” He said pointedly.

“Well then they’ll have to complain to me, then.” Bond said with a small smile. “Because I find what you can do in the hour before your Earl Grey to be bloody terrifying now that I’ve seen you at it.”

Q groaned. “Either go home or fix some tea would you, you pain in the arse?”

“Kettle’s already on.” Bond said with a smile. He rose from the bed and wandered out of the room.

“Brilliant. I’m going to have to call out today.” Q said, horrified at the thought of skiving less than six months into the job.

“I already called you out. M says to feel better and not to come in until Monday. Apparently you’ve pulled in an extra twenty-five hours of work this week, according to the security cameras.”

Q barely heard Bond, as he had already sunk low into bed and began to doze. When Bond returned a few minutes later with a mug of tea, he smiled gratefully.

“You’ve proven quite enough, I think.” Bond said, sitting very closely to Q. “So do yourself a favor and get some rest.” So Q sipped most of his tea and then settled in to sleep.

When Q woke up several hours later, his mug was gone and had been replaced by a note written in Bond’s tiny scrawl.

Went for soup. Be back soon.

-B

Q smiled, he already was feeling a bit better.


	15. In Reverse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Terrorists attack MI6 and Q takes on the role of agent to get Bond out alive after he is seriously injured.

The lowest level of MI6 avoided the worst of the blast, which is ho Q managed to only take a particularly heavy chunk of brick and mortar to his left shoulder.

Immediately Q Branch went into shutdown mode. Q knew that within thirteen seconds, every tech system connected to MI6 would go into lockdown mode except for the most essential. Everything would go except for low-watt emergency lights, telecommunications to the secure line on Downing Street, and the vitals monitoring system hooked up to all agents who were wearing a wristwatch of Q’s design. That included every double-oh, M, Tanner, and Moneypenny.

It took a few seconds for Q to make his way across the rubble-strewn room to reach the main computer. The screens were intact and the casing to the hardware seemed okay, so Q began to manually override the security shutdown to access the vitals of the agents in the floors above.

Small pinpricks began to dash across the screen. Q counted them quickly, and found that only five of the nine people that he should have been able to see were accounted for.

A second lightning-round of coding pulled the identities and heart rates of the five remaining agents onto the screen. He took quick inventory of M and Moneypenny, but could not find Tanner. Steeling himself, he began to check the identities of the other three survivors.

007 was the second agent that Q found. Relief rolled through Q in endless, crashing waves. Bond was alive. It was going to be okay.

Q was still watching the monitor’s rhythmic beats when Bond’s profile began to flash red. He watched in horror as the heart rate sped up to dangerous levels, and then slowed softly until they stopped completely.

Hopelessness was something Q had only experienced a handful of times in his life, so he was blindsided by it when the monitor flat lined.

“Fuck!” Q screamed. He turned and kicked the wall next to him. He took a small shred of comfort in the intense pain that reverberated up his foot.

Then, the screen flashed green. Q looked up, and watched as Bond’s heart slowly began to beat again. The heartbeat wasn’t strong- bt it was there.

Without thinking about it, Q went into the armory and picked out a sleek Walther PPK. He loaded the magazine and grabbed a knife, both of which he slid into a shoulder holster that he pulled on over his white linen button-down. He left his cardigan on the table.

The hallway outside of the entrance to Q Branch was strewn with rubble and dust. Q picked along it slowly; listening for the sounds of footsteps. He made it to the door of an emergency stairwell without encountering anyone, so he crept through it and began to ascend the staircase.

***

The pool of blood surrounding Bond was growing. He could feel it, sticky and thick, against the side of his face and on his arm, and it made his shirtsleeves cling to his arms. He tried to put pressure onto the wound on his chest, to slow the bleeding, but he was too lightheaded, too weak.

Whoever had fired the shot into Bond’s shoulder had moved on to the rooms farther on in the building. He had heard gunshots, but did not know from whom they came from. The minutes passed, and Bond began to think that he was bound to be close to death. He had five minutes, maybe ten. The sounds around Bond began to dim. He could hear gunshots, and for a few terrifying moments he thought that they were getting closer, but then they faded out altogether.

“Bond!” Someone was calling his name, sliding through the fogs of his mind. “James!”

“Q.” Bond muttered softly. The edges of his mind were gripped with panic- did they have Q? He tried to get up, but his arms wouldn’t follow any sort of neurological command. He struggled, trying to grit through the pain, desperate to keep himself together long enough to make sure that Q was okay. His brain was foggy, and slow, but that much he knew that he wanted.

***

“I’m right here, Bond. I’m going to get you help.” Q said. Bond was lying on the tile floor of a meeting room that had clearly become a warzone, based on the number of bullet holes in the wall and the overturned furniture.

Of course, all of MI6 looked like a warzone, including Q himself. He had taken a gunshot wound to one leg, and was scratched to hell across his chest from crawling over broken glass.

Bond mouthed something, but Q couldn’t understand him. Desperately, Q rolled Bond onto his back and applied pressure to the bleeding wound.

“Just hold on a bit longer, okay? We’ll get out of this.” Q said, watching as his hands were coated with Bond’s blood.

Suddenly, Q heard footsteps approaching the door. He moved around to the other side of Bond, crouching so that he was blocking James’ body with his own. Seconds later, a man entered the room with a gun drawn, pointed directly between Q’s eyes.

A shot was fired. Then a second. Q let out a shallow, broken breath, and watched as the attacker fell to the floor, dead.

“Come on, Bond.” Q said, standing painfully. He looked down and realized that Bond had completely lost consciousness.

By this time, sirens were wailing nearby. Mustering every ounce of strength that he could, Q reached down and pulled Bond into his arms. He brought him over his shoulder and ran, straight for the backmost stairwell and down into the MI6 lobby. He collapsed there, the wound in his leg throbbing and bleeding profusely.

When Q looked up, he saw police cars and ambulances parked outside, their sirens wailing and the lights flashing against the windows. He sat on the floor and pulled Bond’s head into his lap. With two fingers, Q checked Bond for a pulse. Once he had found it he kept his fingers pressed against it until the paramedics rushed inside and took Bond from him.

***

Over the next few days, Bond and Q would both have to undergo surgical procedures for wounds from the attack. Bond woke up while Q was in the operating room, and put up a fuss until Q was brought back safely. Once Q had recovered enough to walk on crutches, he almost never left Bond’s bedside. At first, the doctors were dismayed by the floppy-haired boy who wouldn’t stop going into the room of his friend. Soon enough, though, they left them both alone.

Even though they technically weren’t allowed to let two patients share a bed.


	16. Midnight Visit

Despite appearances, Q was perfectly competent when it came to guns. His father was a soldier and had taught Q everything he could before his death. 

So when he heard the window open in his bathroom, which had been shut and latched, Q quietly pulled a pistol from the holster he had built onto his headboard and got to his feet. The bathroom was just down the hall, and he could hear the footsteps approaching. He sidled over to his closet, which concealed a MI6-mandated panic room, ready and waiting. He only had to thrust the sliding doors aside to get inside and signal to MI6. But this was his flat. He had had it before his appointment as Q, and he’d be damned if he was going to hide in his own home. 

The intruder stepped into his bedroom, and Q cocked the gun and pointed it into the darkness. 

”Give me one good reason.” Q said, staring down the shadow in the doorway. His gun was steady in his hand. He was trying to calculate accuracy percentages in his head, but the numbers weren’t churning out properly. 

“You won’t shoot.” Replied a gravelly voice. Q recognized it. The voice in his head, the one he was constantly trying to save. 

”Bond?” Q asked, the gun unmoving. 

”Reporting for… duty.” The agent said. He took another step forward and stumbled. Something dark dripped onto Q’s floor. 

”Christ, you’re hurt.” Q said, lowering the gun and rushing to Bond’s side. 

“Indeed.” Bond groaned, and collapsed in Q’s arms.


	17. Glistening Skin

Typically, the in-ground pool at MI6 was reserved for agents. At least, agents were the only one to use the competition-sized, six-lane behemoth with any regularity. But at three o’clock in the morning, after everyone else at MI6 had gone home for the evening, Q would go and swim laps. 

When Q had been in Uni nearly a decade ago, he had been a competitor in freestyle swimming competitions. He had never been excellent, strictly average, but even so it was a huge athletic accomplishment for him, as every other sporting event he had ever tried had ended in complete failure. He had enjoyed it enough to miss it during those first few years plugging away at programming jobs before being hired at MI6, and he had stared at the pool with envy until he had been promoted to the head of Q Division. 

The water was cold enough that when Q sank into it, his grey swim shorts clinging to his pale legs, he gave a small gasp of surprise. His body quickly adjusted to the temperature, however, as he dipped himself below the surface of the water and used his feet to push off the wall. His arms and legs began to move in a perfect stride down the length of the pool, his body arcing gracefully for the return journey. 

His concentration was so focused that it wasn’t until he stopped to take a rest (he had lost track of the laps) near where he had entered the pool that he saw Bond standing by the door, watching him. 

”You’ve got quite the endurance, Q.” Bond quipped, walking nearer to the pool. 

”Have you just been watching me?” Q asked, brushing his long hair out of his eyes and wading over to the pool’s edge. Bond was a good eleven feet away from him still, dressed impeccably in a suit and tie. 

”Don’t flatter yourself. I came down for a swim.” Bond said with a smirk. 

”Do you usually swim laps in lapels?” Q asked. 

”You should talk.” Bond said, taking another step forward to peer into the pool. “You have lovely legs, Q. You should show them off more often.” 

Defiantly, Q grabbed the edge of the pool and pulled himself out of the water. Rivulets of water poured off of him in streams, collecting on the cement under his feet. Q was fully aware that the wetness was keeping his shorts tight against his groin and high on his legs, but he refused to adjust the fabric. Instead he closed the distance between Bond and himself. 

”Why 007? D’you like what you see?” Q asked, tugging gently on one of Bond’s lapels. The fabric was soft beneath his damp fingers. 

Bond’s face remained perfectly composed, but Q saw his eyes glance over the entire length of Q’s body. Suddenly, Bond had grasped Q by the upper arms and spun him towards the wall, pining him there with his hands on either side of Q’s body and his groin pressed against Q’s thigh. Q could feel Bond’s cock thicken as it pressed against him. 

”Don’t be suggestive if you’re not going to follow through, Q.” Bond said gruffly into Q’s ear. 

Q swallowed audibly, and looked the agent directly in the eye.

“Who says I won’t follow through, James?” He said.


	18. Scars

After a time, Q knew how to touch each and every one of Bond’s scars. When they were tangled together in bed, Q could feel the puckered skin of former gashes along one of James’ biceps, particularly when he ran is fingertips from the agent’s shoulder to his wrist and then back again. The mottled scar from Patrice’s gunshot wound lay high on Bond’s shoulder, and Q always tried to avoid touching it. The slightest pressure would elicit a quiet gasp from Bond, even though the pain of it should have faded months beforehand. Some ghosts never really left. 

There were other old wounds, of course; faded scars from stab wounds that Q kissed gently and discolored skin from burns that Q didn’t even want to imagine. The burns were stroked gently, in the same way that faded bruises were. Bond always pressed himself into those touches, as if the new skin could only be warmed by the touch of someone else; as if Bond’s own body weren’t enough. 

On the hard nights, when Bond was remembering too much or when some kind of significant date or anniversary would pass and Q could all but see the thick shadows enveloping James, Q would lay in bed next to him and trace every inch of skin that didn’t have any mark of violence at all. He would whisper the sort of sweet nothings that every average person wanted to hear, and they would both pretend that they were perfectly boring, with the only wonderful exception being that they had one another.


	19. Christmas Mystery (full)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Holiday-themed 00q. Originally in three parts, all of which are posted below.

By some dumb stroke of luck, Q was off on Christmas Eve. The few things that he needed to do for MI6 could be done from his flat on the secure server, and there weren’t any agents in the field that needed scheduled Comm guidance. 

Q found out about his new found free time on December 23rd as he was packing up for the evening. Tanner had sent out a memo listing the I.D.s of the skeleton crew that was being asked to man headquarters over the holiday, and Q was shocked that he was not on it. He also noticed, with a small pang of curiosity, that James Bond was not on the list either. 

“Happy Christmas.” Q said as he walked through Q Division. Most of the staff had already left, but the remaining people smiled and replied with well wishes as they packed up their bags. Q had made his way through the department and was on his way out the metal doors to the underground parking unit when he found Bond standing in the lobby, scrolling through his mobile. 

”Alright, Bond?” Q asked as he walked past. 

”Q.” Bond nodded. A small frown tugged at the lower corner of his lips. 

”What’s wrong?” Q asked. 

”Nothing.” Bond said, a smile appearing on his face. “Happy Christmas.”

“You, too.” Q said. He adjusted his grip on his bag and walked out into the parking garage. 

The extent of Christmas decorations in Q’s flat began and ended with a small foot-high pine “tree” that he had picked up at Tesco. It was more of a sapling than anything; the branches were too weak to hold up the single bauble tied to the top without bowing over the tree. Q had set the tree in the kitchen window, originally, but he carried it into the main room as he went to sit on the sofa and watch the television and drink a cup of tea. 

Around ten pm, he heard his mobile buzz. 

JB: How do I get access to the training range?

Q stared at the phone in disbelief, then began to tap out a reply. 

Q: You need approval from a senior member of Q division.

JB: Obviously. How do I get access if the senior member I typically have access to is not in headquarters?

Q: Has it ever occurred to you that when you’re given off, you can go home?

JB: Really, just tell me who to ask. 

Q: See if Thora is there. Otherwise, the senior staff has all gone home for the evening. Do you not have anywhere to go? What about your flat?

JB: Thora left. My flat is boring. Sorry to bother. 

Q: You don’t have anywhere else that you can go? No one to see?

JB: No. I’m fine.

 

Q looked at his cell phone for a moment and tried to restrain himself. He typed a half dozen potential answers into the keypad, and then gave up and went with his gut. 

Q: You can come here. It’s just me and my pathetic Christmas sapling.

An hour passed, and Q didn’t receive an answer. Eventually, Q turned off his television and shuffled off to bed, leaving the mug on the table but taking the tree with him. He was growing a bit attached to the thing. 

He crawled into bed and turned out the lights, deciding that Chinese food and a movie marathon would be a perfectly fine way to spend Christmas Eve. On Christmas morning, enough people would have cleared out of MI6 for him to go back in without feeling guilty, and all would be well again. 

Q was on the threshold of sleep when he heard the knock at his door. He stumbled out of bed and dragged himself down the short hallway to the front door. On the other side of his peephole stood a rather sodden James Bond, who was carrying a weekender bag under one arm, a plastic sac on the other, and looking very apprehensive. Q shook himself awake and tugged the door open. 

“Hello, Q.” Bond said. His smile was tentative, and Q recognized the bravado of comfort that all agents wore when they were in unfamiliar territory. He also detected a haze of drunkenness, mostly emanating from the faint smell of alcohol and the tired set of Bond’s eyes. 

”Bond. Come on in.” Q stepped aside. He watched the agent shuffle carefully, and caught the way Bond’s shoulder bumped against the doorway as he walked through. 

“I brought a ham.” Bond said, holding up the bag in his hand. “It’s small, but I thought… if you didn’t have plans for Christmas Eve…”

“Wonderful. Thanks.” Q replied, taking the bag and stowing it in his refrigerator quickly. The awkwardness was tangible between them, and he was desperate to figure out what the hell he had gotten himself into. 

”Can I get you some tea? Or a beer? I might have scotch, but I don’t drink it often…” Not that Bond needed any more alcohol, but Q wasn’t sure if he was supposed to address Bond’s current state of inebriation or not. 

“No, I woke you, no worries. If I can just kip on the sofa, I promise tomorrow I’ll be a regular house guest.” Bond yawned, and Q felt sympathy for the agent. 

Unsure of what else to do, Q gave Bond a quick tour of his flat (bedroom, bathroom, main room-slash-office, kitchen) and set a pile of linens on the back of the sofa. 

”Rent whatever you’d like off cable.” Q said, handing Bond the remote. The agent looked at him strangely for a second, and Q stuttered. “I-I mean we have a few different series you can rent and films and documentaries. Or whatever.” 

”Thank you.” Bond said, taking the remote. 

Q smiled, ran a hand through his tangled hair, and returned to his bedroom. 

He would try to get to the bottom of the agent in his living room the next day. But in that moment, all he wanted was sleep. 

\---

Q woke up before Bond, so he snuck around his flat for about an hour in an attempt to not wake the sleeping agent before he gave up and set about his morning as usual; he made a cup of tea and some toast and padded over to the small table with his laptop on it so that his computer could boot. The table was about five feet to the right of the couch, so Q had a perfect line of sight to the sleeping Bond as he entered various passwords and listened for the sound of the kettle boiling. 

He was halfway through his second cup of tea when Bond began to stir. 

“Morning, Sunshine.” Q said distractedly as Bond sat up. 

“You’re chipper.” Bond said, his face cradled briefly in his hands before running them through his hair. 

”That’s because I went to bed sober.” Q said, typing a few lines of code before shutting the laptop down. “Would you like some tea?” 

“Do you have coffee?” 

 

”Your tree leaves something to be desired.” Bond said, pointing to the thin pine that Q had placed in the center of the kitchen table. A mug of coffee sat in front of Bond, and Q was leaning against the counter drinking a cup of tea. 

”I quite like it. It’s festive.”

“It’s something.” Bond chuckled, taking another sip of coffee. 

As it turned out, neither Q or Bond knew how to have a day off, so they both picked an end of the couch and Bond flipped through the channels before they settled on a old Christmas special that they both liked enough to endure. 

”So no family you’d rather be spending the holidays with?” Bond asked during one of the commercial breaks. 

”I’m surprised that you have to ask.” Q said with a yawn. “I would have thought that you’d have broken into my file by now and learned all that there is to know.”

”Your file is essentially blank, as you well know.” Bond said with a sly smile. “Which I know for a fact is utter bullshit. No one comes from nothing.”

”Too right.” Q agreed. “I deleted most of my personnel file after I was promoted to the head of Q division. Less risk for anyone I’ve ever been involved with that way.”

”So you’re protecting someone.” Bond prompted. He leaned towards Q with interest. 

”I have a sister who lives in the States with her husband and my nephew who haven’t heard from me in awhile. Some friends from uni that I dropped out of communication with. My parents are dead.”

”No former lovers?”

”Sure, but there aren’t any harbored feelings on either end, so they wouldn’t prove to be much leverage if the situation arose.”

Bond seemed satisfied with this, and returned to watching the television. The show had resumed a few minutes beforehand, but Bond had been more interested in Q’s answers than the show. 

That evening Q and Bond tried to determine how to cook the ham, and after a marginal success they parted ways for the evening, Bond thanking Q for the company and Q feeling slight pangs of disappointment that Bond was leaving so soon. 

\---

On Christmas morning Q got up at his regular time and waited on the tube platform for the train. It was running on a slightly slower schedule than usual, because of the holiday, but he still made it to MI6 at his usual time. 

The offices were mostly empty, with just a handful of people milling about, and Q division was completely deserted. Q decided to take advantage of this by pulling up his work on the main screens in Q branch instead of inside his office, and by playing music through the intercom system the he had wired through the room. He figured that there wasn’t anyone there to complain, so he may as well enjoy himself. 

Around ten, an alert popped up in the corner of his computer screen, letting him know that someone had thumbed through the main door to Q branch. Because there was no secretary in the Q division lobby, that meant that Q would have to let them into the inner levels of the division. 

Q turned, and was only mildly surprised when he saw 007 standing on the opposite side of the glass doors. The agent rang the buzzer and looked up towards the ceiling. The glass was one-sided; the interior of Q branch could see outwards perfectly, but on the other side of the door the glass was frosted to obscure the goings-on inside. Q walked to the front of the room and opened the door, stepping aside so the Bond could make his way through. 

”Bond.”

”Q. Happy Christmas.” Bond smiled a little, and began to make his way towards the computers. 

“And you.” Q said, following. “No plans?” 

”Not really.” Bond shrugged. “You?”

”Afraid not.” Q replied. “Anything I can help you with?”

Bond smiled again, this time he appeared almost sheepish. 

”I was hoping that one of your underlings would be here to let me into the Testing Armory.” Bond admitted. 

”You don’t have clearance for that.” Q said, casting a chiding look at Bond. He shrugged. 

“I like to know what’s coming up the line.” He said. 

“Very well.” Q sighed. He glanced at his computer screen, whose contents were uninspiring and frankly boring. “I suppose it’s a holiday, after all.” 

Had Q known how ecstatic Bond would be at the opportunity to be in the Testing Armory, Q wouldn’t have taken even a second to consider bringing him down. Every weapon that Q handed to the agent, explaining with detail precisely how to use it and the mechanics behind it, was fired expertly by Bond. 

”You should test all of our products.” Q said with approval. “Most of the testers couldn’t hit the broad side of a barn if they were standing a few meters away.” 

”Does that include you?” Bond jibed. He glanced at Q and winked. The Quartermaster rolled his eyes, and held his hand out for the weapon. Bond handed it over, and Q shot three bullets in quick succession, each one hitting the bullseye on the target at the other side of the room. 

”Don’t underestimate me, Bond.” Q said, handing the weapon back. “I can handle my own.”

Bond could not hide how impressed he was. 

After testing every weapon in the armory, Bond suggested that he and Q go out for lunch. There was the small problem of it being Christmas Day, so they quickly agreed on Chinese food. It didn’t come as much of a shock to Q that Bond wanted to go to the nicest Chinese restaurant in the city, but he did surprise himself by agreeing to go. This was the happiest he had ever seen Bond, and it occurred to Q that this was the happiest he had been in awhile as well. Or, if nothing else, the least stressed. And that was certainly something. 

Bond talked about China while they ate, never mentioning certain events from the recent past, but instead discussing the different markets and restaurants and landmarks he had been to while he was researching a mark. Q hadn’t realized that Bond could appreciate things such as art and architecture, but he tried not to let that show as he listened to Bond talk. 

“I apologize, I’m monopolizing the conversation.” Bond said suddenly when they were finishing up their meal. 

“No worries. I’ve never been to China, except for through the wires.” Q said. In his hacking ventures, he had taken apart organizations all over the world, China included.

“Ah, fear of flying, right?” Bond asked. 

“Something like that.” Q said. “My parents were killed in a plane crash. Not commercial, they went up in one of those twin engine machines when I was a teenager. My uncle was a pilot. Mechanical failure.” 

Bond nodded. He knew better than to apologize for Q’s loss, or tell the man how awful that was. He had been far younger when he had lost his parents, but he knew the words that helped and the ones that didn’t. 

“You must miss them terribly, especially on days like today.” Bond said instead. 

“Honestly? It feels like they died in another life. After they died I slowly broke ties with, well, most of the people in my life. When I started applying for a job in MI6, I cut away from everyone completely. Now it feels as if whomever I was when they were alive is someone else entirely.”

Bond nodded. “I understand completely.” 

The waiter came over then, and Bond paid the check, despite Q’s insistence that they split the bill. When they left the restaurant and got into Bond’s car, Q detected a nervous energy in Bond. 

”Now then. Back to the office, or somewhere else?” Bond asked as he turned the key in the ignition. As the car warmed up, Bond turned in his seat to face Q, one arm resting on the back of Q’s seat. 

”It doesn’t matter to me.” Q admitted.

“My place then.” Bond decided. Q felt a spark of excitement ignite in his chest.

In all, it was the best holiday that he could have asked for.


	20. Exposure

Every year, Q would wrap one arm around Bond’s wide shoulders, and they would walk together through the damp cemetery. They would pass all of the magnificent mausoleums and intricate marble headstones and continue back towards the smaller, more plain stones towards the far side of the grounds. 

They stopped in front of a small stone, plainly marked. Unlike the other markers, there were no flowers, no crosses or teddy bears moldering in the rain. 

RONSON

Q always kept a bit of distance away from the stone as Bond stared down in silence. The grim set of Bond’s lips and the stiff line of his shoulders made Q want to step forward and do something, anything, to minimize Bond’s pain. The events of Turkey- and everything that escalated afterwards- had visited bond in his sleep every night for the first year that he and Q were together. But Q knew that there was nothing he could do. Not then. Instead, he watched as Bond reached into his pocket and pulled out a small Uranium bullet, and set it down in the marble. 

To Q, this gesture always seemed entirely inappropriate- like a taunt, to bring the very thing that killed the agent and leave it as a token. But Bond had explained to Q the year before. 

For an agent, a bullet was as much a symbol of life as it was of death. After all, the single bullet that had killed Ronson was one of dozens that had kept him alive. 

And there was a level of respect in that. 

After Bond had stood for a moment, looking down at the grave of the man he could have saved but had chosen not to, he turned back towards Q. They moved away from the site, and by the time they had walked from the grass and onto the gravel road. 

Before they got too far, Bond reached over and slipped his hand into Q’s. Q gave it a light squeeze, happy to feel the warmth against his palm as they left the dead behind, drenched and exposed.


	21. Winter Mornings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wintery fluff

The morning was bright; the walls were illuminated in cheerful light. Outside, a great swath of icy snow covered the streets. Q laid in bed with his head against his soft pillow, limbs warm under the goose down comforter that was wrapped around his thin legs and arms. Sitting in the nest of blankets was his small black cat Charon, who purred softly as she slept. Q could hear birds chirping from the ledge outside of the window, impervious to the weather. A car parked itself on the street below, an engine cut off and a door opened. Q closed his eyes, and brought his arms to rest under his chin. 

A few moments later, Q heard the door to his flat open and a set of keys drop onto the glass-topped side table that sat in the downstairs hall. There was the banging of shoes, the rustle of a coat, and then the quick steps of someone ascending the staircase and pausing just outside of the bedroom door.

The door emitted a low creak of protest as it was pushed open, but the proceeding footsteps were quiet nonetheless. Q heard the quiet swipe of silk over linen as a tie was removed, the soft sounds of a shirt crumpling to the floor, and the light rap of trouser buttons falling against the wood just after.

The bed sank under the added weight of a second body crawling across its width, and Q jolted slightly when he felt cold hands reach under his shirt and stretch over his back. Charon jumped from where she had been sleeping and re-settled herself further towards the end of the bed in a patch of sunlight. 

“Sorry.” Bond said, withdrawing his hands. His voice was quiet and gravelly the way it was only when he was exhausted. Q rolled over to face Bond. He could see the tired lines on his lover’s face, the pooled blue bruising under his bright eyes, and the flush of chill in his cheeks. 

“Christ James, you’re freezing.” Q said. He pressed his bare legs against Bond’s, making sure to hook the tops of his feet under the other’s sole. It was where the agent was always coldest after long hours of surveillance. 

”Sorry.” Bond said again, coupled with a yawn. Q took the agent’s hands and pressed them to his chest before drawing Bond closer to him. Unlike Q, who had worn a t-shirt in addition to his briefs to bed, Bond was bare-chested and in only his pants. Q tried to wrap his arms around the muscular expanse of Bond’s back to encourage warmth. His hands traced idly from the bumps in Bond’s spine to the back of his neck, across his shoulders, and down again. He could smell Bond’s familiar scent; leather and coffee and that hint of a spice that he still couldn’t quite place. He breathed in deeply, and felt himself settle into a feeling of safety. 

”No apologies, James, we’ll warm you up.” Q murmured sleepily. His body was wrapped tight against Bond’s, and he tucked his head against the larger man’s collarbone. 

”I love coming home to you.” Bond said, and Q could feel the smile tucked against his hairline as Bond pressed a kiss there. 

“I love being the one that you’re coming home to.” Q replied, sleepily pushing through a jumble of words that made Bond laugh quietly. Q pressed himself even closer to Bond and slipped quietly back into sleep. 

Bond took a moment to take in the scent of his Quartermaster; tea and vanilla and something earthy like teak. The scent, mixed with the comforting warmth of the body pressed against his own, lulled him into sleep as well. 

They passed the early hours of the morning that way; entangled together under the steady gaze of Charon, who looked after them both.


	22. Mythos

”Fuck.” Q muttered. He leaned his head back against the cool stone facade of the MI6 building. His hands were shaking, a cold sweat was breaking out on the back of his neck. 

He wanted a bloody smoke. 

”All right, Q?” 

Q glanced to his side and was surprised to see Bond standing by the curb, one arm in his trouser pocket, and the other grasping a cigarette. 

”Yeah.” Q shivered a little. “I’m fine. Can I bum a smoke?”

Bond nodded and pulled out a silver cigarette case. He plucked a cigarette from the beige velvet backing and handed it to Q. He pulled a matching lighter out of his pocket, flicked back the heavy lid, ignited its flame and held it out to Q, who shielded the flame from the wind with his hand. 

”Rough day?” Bond asked after a few moments of silence. 

“I feel like fucking Charon some days.” Q said, taking a drag of the cigarette. “All I’m doing is couriering agents from life into death at the exorbitant cost of gadgets and state secrets.” 

“So what does that make me, Charon?” Bond asked, blowing a stream of smoke from his nostrils. 

Q fiddled with the cigarette between his fingers and then took another drag to stall for time. 

“Thrasos.” He said finally, with a quirk of a smile. 

“I’m not familiar with that deity.” Bond said, looking at Q with curiosity. 

”It’s not a God.” Q said, finishing his cigarette. “It’s a daemon of recklessness and boldness.” 

Bond glanced at Q and grinned widely. Quickly, he closed the gap between the two of them and pressed his mouth to Q’s ear. 

”Fitting indeed.” Bond said. He dropped his cigarette onto the pavement and stubbed it out with his foot, then he headed back towards the building, leaving Q standing in the cold wind in shock.


	23. Capture (full)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The fic Capture (in full). 
> 
> TW for torture.

“You were brought in with a coworker from MI6. What is his name?” The man paced the room slowly, his eyes never leaving Bond’s bruised body. Bond was bound tightly to a chair and his breathing was ragged from the many kicks to the abdomen that he had been dealt since he was captured. 

“I don’t know who you’re talking about.” Bond said, his voice nearly a growl. 

“Sure you do, James. Don’t make it more complicated than it has to be.” The man said. He was wearing an expensive suit, but it wasn’t tailored to his body. Stolen, Bond guessed, or purchased in a hurry. “Who is the man that we brought in with you?”

“I don’t know who he is.” Bond lied. 

“We’ll see.” The man grinned, and stepped quickly from the room. There was a loud thud, a yelp, and a few minutes Bodn watched as Q was dragged bodily into the room. 

He was bleeding. There were abrasions on his shoulders and arms, which were bare. Bruises lined the angles of his face. He flinched when their captor walked behind him, which enraged Bond. 

“Let’s try this again.” The man said. He grabbed a thick handful of Q’s hair and ripped Q upwards so that Bond was staring into his face. “And keep in mind that if you cooperate, we’ll let you go.” 

“I don’t know anything about him.” Bond said. He watched Q’s eyes in the slightest sign of relief. He had been worried that Bond would break protocol. 

“Then you won’t mind if I kill him.” The man said. He slammed Q down towards the floor and pulled a pistol out of his pocket. Bond watched in slow motion as the gun was pressed against Q’s temple, and the trigger was pulled.

“NO!” Bond screeched, his voice broken and desperate. The man smiled wickedly at Bond, and held up the gun towards the ceiling and pressed the trigger again. 

The gun wasn’t loaded. 

“You bastard…” Bond said, his voice wreaked. 

“How about another chance, James?” The man asked. He grabbed Q by the back of the neck and propped him upright. Q’d body had crumpled at the sound of the trigger, and the man was ghost white and trembling slightly. Despite this, however, his face remained stoic and blank. Bond felt a swell of pride towards him. 

The man pulled a metal pipe away from the wall and rolled it over in his hands. 

“Tell me what you know about this man.” 

“I don’t know him.” Bond said through gritted teeth. 

“Shame.” The man smiled, pulled his arm back, and swung the bar low ad cruelly into Q’s back. 

The sound of Q’s scream would never leave Bond’s mind. 

\---

They left Q unconscious at Bond’s feet. For hours, Bond listened to his quartermaster’s ragged breath as blood ran down his broken body. The bruises had already turned a dark, tormented purple. When Q finally began to stir, he looked at Bond wearily, and somehow summoned the strength to gave him a weak smile. 

The relief that flooded through Bond when he saw that Q had regained consciousness was impossible to hide on his face, so he ducked his head into his chest and tried to focus. 

That’s when Bond heard the tapping. For a moment, he thought that it was coming from outside the door, and that their captors were coming back. But then, he realized that the sound was coming from Q, whose fingers were counting out a pattern on the hard floor. As Bond listened to the tapping, he saw the symbols in his head. 

\- … … - . - . .

BOND. Bloody brilliant, Q. Bond thought to himself. Carefully, he began tapping his foot against the floor, laboriously spelling out all of the things that he most needed to say in Morse code. 

“Are you okay?” Bond tapped against the floor. 

“It’s the holiday I’ve always dreamed of.” Q responded after a long while. “Are you okay?”

“Never better.” Bond replied.

He wanted to reach out and touch Q, wipe the blood away from his eyes and cover the thinner man’s small back with his own skin, to help calm the small tremors that Bond could see. 

“What are your injuries?” Bond asked, careful not to move his foot to much away from the chair as he tapped. 

“Bruised ribs. Maybe broken. Kidney damage. Concussion.” The list was extensive, and Bond had a feeling that he was only getting an abridged summary. “I’m tired.” 

“Don’t sleep.” Bond tapped out. Q didn’t respond, so Bond repeated himself. 

“Q, Don’t sleep.” 

Just then, the door to the room opened, and the man in the poorly fitted suit came back in. 

“So. Let’s begin round two.” The man grinned wickedly, laying a hand briefly on Bond’s shoulder before moving past him. “Tell us about this man.” He used his foot to roll Q over from his side to his back. 

“I don’t know him.” Bond said. 

A kick to Q’s ribs.

“Are you sure?” The man asked over Q’s gasps. 

“I don’t know him.” Bond repeated. 

A kick to Q’s face groin. Q yelled in agony and made retching sounds as he rolled onto his hands and knees, a move complicated by the binds around his wrists. 

“Haven’t you figured it out yet, you dumb fuck? We don’t know each other.” Q snapped, his voice thick with blood. Bond winced inwardly, and then listened as five more kicks landed around Q’s body. Every single one of Bond’s muscles were tensed. He looked at Q’s tormentor and wanted to kill him. Slowly. 

On the floor, Q was fading. His breathing went from labored to slow, and his eyes were closed. 

“Q.” Bond tapped the letter out with his foot, never taking his eyes off of the man looming over Q. The sound registered with Q. His eyes fluttered, and he pulled himself back towards agonizing consciousness. 

“I’m getting impatient, Bond.” The man said. “Now, I imagine that between the two of you, MI6 has a tracker that will bring them crashing down around us. Luckily for you, that means that you’ll probably make it out alive.” The man grinned. 

“Of course, that’s under the condition that you help us make this little shit useful.” the man continued. “He’s already admitted to being Q.”

“lying” Q tapped. “Intern.” 

“Q?” Bond said, confused. “He’s barely out of Uni. He’s probably just an errand boy.”

“I’m 33, arsehole.” Q tapped. 

“Bollocks.” Bond tapped back. 

“We’ll see.” The man said. He walked over to the door and slammed on it three times. It opened, and he returned to the crumpled form of Q on the floor. 

“Luckily, this gets easier right now.” The man said. “This is a countdown for a bomb that will go off in the center of London. You have thirty minutes to disengage it.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a set of cuffs, which he used to shackle Q to a grate on the floor. He handed Q the laptop.

And then the man left. 

Q glanced up at Bond, his face pale and every movement clearly an extraordinary effort. 

“What an idiot.” Q tapped. 

And then he began to type.


	24. After Karachi

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Explicit content.

They weren’t exclusive. It was as simple as that. Bond arrived on Q’s doorstep after missions gone awry, on incredibly cold nights, and after very long nights at the pub. Most of the time, Q was home, and he welcomed Bond’s embrace. Occasionally, Q would be out, sometimes with another man or woman, and the only evidence of the night that could-have-been was a notification on Q’s cell phone that read the fingerprint of every individual who rung his doorbell. Bond never brought up Q’s other conquests, and as a result he never toted around feelings of animosity after listening to Bond fuck a target through his headset.

“This isn’t healthy.” Eve had said once when they were out having a drink. Q’s phone had notified him of Bond’s presence at his flat, and Eve was nosy.

“What?” Q asked, unlocking his phone so that he could text Bond to join them- they were only a few blocks away.

“Whatever weird relationship you two have going on.” She held up her hand before Q could argue. “Don’t try and tell me that you’re both just friends. That’s utter bullshit.”

“Could you spare me the lecture until after I make a call?” Q asked, standing up. Eve shook her head a little, and smiled.

“Go on then, make your call.” She said. “I’m going to order another round.”

Q wandered through the pub and made his way to the sidewalk outside. He reached Bond easily, and gave him the address. Bond agreed to come down, though he expressed slight trepidation upon hearing that Eve was there.

“It’ll be fine.” Q said into the phone, reaching into his pocket to pull out a pack of cigarettes. “I want to see you.”

They had been seeing far less of each other over the last few weeks. Bond had been sent on a long-term assignment in Karachi and had only been home for a day. Usually, they were in frequent enough contact through Q branch that this didn’t matter, but this particular assignment had been mostly radio silence. MI6 had limited resources in Pakistan, thanks to the current political climate in the Middle East, so Q wasn’t able to be much assistance to Bond from a distance.

Q hung up his phone and sucked on his cigarette, deciding whether to wait outside for Bond or to go back inside to begin damage control with Eve. She was too many drinks in to be on her best behavior, but perhaps with some proper begging she could be convinced to keep her more damaging observations to herself.

In the end, it didn’t matter. Bond appeared just as Q was stubbing out his cigarette, dressed in perfectly-fitted jeans and a leather jacket. He gave Q a reserved smile as he approached, and pulled him in for a slow, lingering kiss.

“James.”

“Q.”

“Come on, then.” Q beckoned Bond inside, past a small group of women who gave Bond a second glance as he walked by. To Bond’s credit, he was nearly able to hide his appraising look, but not quite. Q shifted through the crowd, and eventually was able to find the table that he and Eve shared towards the back wall of the establishment.

“Bond, lovely to see you.” Eve said, standing to plant a kiss on Bond’s cheek.

“Evening, Moneypenny.” Bond said, laying a hand on her hip and returning the kiss. “How is Mallory treating you?”

“Things with M are going well. A bit less adventurous than what you’re used to, but it suits me well enough.”

“Glad to hear it.” Bond sat down next to Q. The waitress came over, and Bond placed an order for a scotch and soda.

For the next two hours, they were able to have a perfectly amicable evening without too many hiccups. Eve asked Bond about his time in Karachi, which she hadn’t known much about until after the debrief. Q listened and drank his beer, trying not to show any physical reactions to Bond’s hand, which was slowly sliding up his inner thigh as his drink fell lower in his glass. Even so, Eve glanced at Q knowingly a few times before excusing herself suddenly, claiming to be tired. Q and Bond decided to call it a night as well, and together they began to settle the check.

“Well that was subtle.” Bond said as split paths outside of the pub. They had stayed to see Eve get into a taxi, and then began the short walk back to Q’s flat.

“What do you mean, Eve’s glances or your hand?” Q said pointedly. They crossed the road just as it began to drizzle.

“Fair enough.” Bond said with a smile. “I’m sorry, I just missed you. There is a distinct lack of shaggy-haired computer geniuses in Pakistan.”

“I sincerely doubt that.” Q laughed.

“Well, I didn’t see any, at least.” Bond said. They turned partway down the block and went up the steps to Q’s building. Bond held the lobby door for Q and summoned the elevator. They rode in relative silence and stepped along the hallway to Q’s door. Bond leaned against the wall as he waited for Q to get the door open.

Despite his salary, Q couldn’t have been bothered to properly furnish his flat. Up until he began his evening visits with Bond, he hadn’t brought anyone home. He preferred to have his one-night stands elsewhere. This meant that while his furniture was comfortable enough, it was sparse and typically covered in wires. Half-drunk mugs of tea spotted the apartment as well, which Q usually preferred to tidy up before Bond came around.

“So, Q. Did you miss me?” Bond asked, nudging Q against his living room wall. He mouthed at Q’s neck gently and pressed his thigh up against Q’s groin and ran a hand up the back of his neck to tangle his fingers in the long locks of hair. Q responded by leaning his head back to bare his throat for Bond, and canted his hips slightly forward to meet Bond’s thigh with his own hardening cock. There was a pressure against his hip where Bond was pressed against him, and Q ran his hands over the waist of Bond’s jeans and then down over the button and fly, running his fingers over Bond’s cock through the fabric.

Bond grunted and ran his mouth up to meet Q’s. This kiss was harder, more desperate, and Q felt his breath leave him as he grasped at Bond’s upper arms to anchor himself. Suddenly, Bond pulled away, leaving Q slightly surprised at the sudden lack, and deftly spun Q around by the hips. He was facing the wall, hands flat against the plaster, as Bond reached around him and undid his trousers, pushing them to the ground. He then unbuttoned his own fly and pressed his cock against the crease in Q’s ass, rutting gently as his fingers dipped under the waistband of Q’s pants and wrapped around Q’s cock.

Q groaned quietly as Bond’s hand ran from his base to his tip in long, smooth gestures. He thrust himself through the warmth of Bond’s hand, breathless at the pressure, and braced himself against the wall with his forearm as Bond began to rut against him harder from behind.

“Bed.” Q whispered after a few more minutes. He was achingly hard, but he wanted more, and he would be damned if Bond was going to fuck him up against the wall in his own flat. Q had rules, and he refused to be taken anywhere that he had to see while he was programming. This included his livingroom.

“Okay.” Bond murmured into Q’s neck. He stepped away, allowing Q to kick off his shoes and socks to step out of the pooled legs of his trousers and smiled when Q kissed him hard. Q pulled away, and lead the way into the bedroom.

“Now then.” Q said, stripping off his shirt to leave himself nearly naked, save for his pants. “As we were.”

Bond shot Q a sly smile. He began to unbutton his shirt as Q pushed his jeans to the floor. 

“As we were indeed.” Bond said into Q’s collar just before they fell onto the bed.


	25. Proposal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 00Q established relationship when they go for dinner and Bond proposes to Q

“Should we do Thai for dinner?” Bond asked, pulling a v-necked t-shirt over his head. The fabric fit him perfectly, which allowed Q to appreciate his boyfriend’s muscles through the gray fabric.

“If you’d like.” Q shrugged. He had a book on his lap that had been abandoned ever since Bond had stepped out of the shower, followed by a billowing mist of steam.

“Would you rather we went somewhere else?” Bond asked, pausing to glance at Q.

Q sat up a bit straighter on the bed and smiled. “Thai’s fine, James. We can go to that little place by the river.”

Bond smiled. Q wondered if he would ever know the extent of the secrets that Bond kept behind that smile. “My thoughts exactly.” He said, stepping around the bed to pull Q in for a long, lingering kiss. Q felt heat rise in his chest, and he took greater control of the kiss, moving his lips against Bond’s, which had become pliant. Bond’s hands tangled into Q’s hair and played with the messy curls.

They pulled apart after a few minutes and Q got off the bed to pull on a sweater. Bond took an extra moment to straighten his jacket in the mirror, fiddling with the pockets, before he took Q’s hand with a warm smile and they walked out onto the London streets.

—-

The server cleared their plates, and refilled their wine glasses. Q was about to start in on his second glass, and Bond on his third. The restaurant was humming quietly, and Bond leaned forward across the table to take Q’s hand in his.

“I love you.” Bond said with a smile.

“I love you too.” Q grinned.

“It’s been a rather lovely two years.” Bond said, reaching into his jacket pocket. Q picked up his wine glass and took a sip.

“It has.” Q said with a quiet laugh. “Christ, I can’t believe it’s been two years already.”

Bond pulled a square, flat box out of his pocket and laid it on his lap.

“Q,” Bond began, and then paused. “Thomas, I have something I would like to ask you.”

Q put his glass down. His brow furrowed in concern; Bond never used his real name.

“What’s wrong, James?” He asked.

“Absolutely nothing.” Bond assured him. “But you see, I’ve been doing a bit of thinking these last few months, and I’ve realized that I can’t picture my life without you anymore.” He said. “And then I decided, that I don’t want to picture that kind of life at all. I’d like to spend the rest of my life with you, and only you.”

Bond stood and kneeled by Q’s chair, and he carefully lifted the lid off of the box in his hand. Inside was a handsome watch with a white gold band and a white face. Engraved in dark grey just above the six were the words “For Always.”

“Q. Thomas. Would you do me the honor of marrying me?” Bond asked, holding the watch out to Q.

At this point, the restaurant had quieted to near silence. Q looked around nervously, and then took Bond’s hand.

“Of course, James.” He said with a smile. “Nothing would make me happier.”

—-

Their clothes were strewn from one end of the flat to the other. Bond was shirtless, and his belt laid abandoned on the hallway floor. He was wrestling Q out of his button-down and trousers as he steered him, backwards, towards the bed.

“Mine.” Bond growled into Q’s collar. He laid a quick, almost predatory kiss there before moving lower along Q’s chest, and then down to his stomach, and then even lower.

“Yours.” Q agreed, gasping as Bonds mouth worked against him. He crawled backwards to the head of the bed, marveling at Bond as he loomed over him. He pulled Bond up for a kiss.

“And your mine too.” Q said, smiling against Bond’s lips.

“Yes.” Bond said, running his hands over Q’s thighs. “Yours.”


	26. Imperfect Memories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Would you think it all plausible that perhaps a child partly saw Bond doing his secret agent thing and later went on to create like a webcomic or graphic novel based on those really vague memories? And that Q would come across it on the internet and be torn between panicking and laughing about it? It's an idea that's pestering me.

”Shit, shit, shit.” Q snapped out, his fingers rocketing over the keyboard. Bond was in the shower, apparently trying to drown himself after a particularly disastrous assignment. 

On his computer screen was an Italian webcomic whose archives spanned the course of six years. They were poorly executed in the beginning, tied up in a story that the author clearly did not understand. A chase through the streets of with guns in hand and a woman captured. A sinking building. The woman drowned. The story continued with a number of different plotlines, including a year-long arc where the man and woman had a past filled in for them, and another arc where they were given a more hopeful future. 

Q had come across the comics by accident, and hadn’t decided to flip to the very beginning of the archives until that morning. But now, staring at the blond haired, blue-eyed man in neat clothing and a strong physique, Q couldn’t deny who he was looking at-

Someone had seen Bond, and he was taking great creative liberty with the agent’s life story. 

”The man barely has a social security number, but there’s a bloody webcomic based on him.” Q mumbled as he began to hack into the server that hosted the comic. It wasn’t difficult, the page clearly hadn’t been designed or maintained by a genius in any form. He managed to take the page down before Bond turned off the water in the bathroom. 

After all of the content had been removed from the site, Q replaced it with a simple message. It was atypical of Q to work so obviously, but he was afraid that being subtle would make his warning go undetected. 

You saw nothing. Forget everything. 

Q updated the page and got up to turn on the kettle.


	27. Falling ill

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sick!Q fluffy hurt/comfort.

”It’s a reaction to one of the materials that Q was testing in his lab.” The doctor informed Bond, who was seated across from the head of Medical Division in a small conference room. 

“Is it life threatening?” Bond asked. For the last week, Q had begun to lose the ability to properly breathe. Then his appetite disappeared to nearly nothing, and he stopped sleeping. 

”Only if he doesn’t take care of himself.” The doctor said. “The effects should wear off in a few weeks. Usually the compound doesn’t cause much more than a moderate throat irritation, but he was working with such high quantities…”

Bond brought Q back to his own flat, which was closer to a hospital and had the benefit of not being on the top storey of a fifth-floor walkup. Q wheezed slightly as they went inside from the chilly nip of the London air. 

”I’m sorry.” Q coughed. “I don’t mean to intrude.”

“That’s enough, Q. You’re fine.” Bond assured him just before the next round of coughing started. These were not regular coughs. These were deep, painful coughs that, if not suppressed properly, threatened to puncture a lung. 

“It’s going to be okay.” Bond said, grabbing hold of Q as he fought to maintain airflow into his body. “I’m right here.” 

Once the coughing fit stopped, Bond led Q from the entryway of his flat and back towards the master bedroom. As Q slowly began to pull on pyjamas, Bond prepared a needle with a cocktail of drugs that the doctor had instructed Bond to administer to Q. 

”Are you sure you can do that without killing me?” Q asked dubiously as he laid down on the bed. He didn’t have the energy to move very far inwards, so he perched on the very edge of the mattress. Bond put the needle down and scooted Q further towards the center. 

”Yes, it’ll be fine. Now stay calm.” He injected Q, who held back a cough just long enough for Bond to draw the needed back out. 

“Ugh, I’m so bloody useless.” Q snapped. “I can’t even just lay here.”

”Q, relax.” Bond said gently. He removed his shoes and climbed into the bed to lay next to Q. “We’ll get you better soon, and then you can go back to whatever godforsaken project you were working on.”

Q mumbled something, but Bond hadn’t caught it. 

”What was that?” Bond asked. 

“Exploding pen.” Q said, ducking his head shamefully. “I was testing inks with accelerants.” 

”My little mad scientist.” Bond said with a sad smile. He kissed Q on the temple, and watched with relief as Q finally drifted off into the land of sleep.


	28. In a skirt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Q and Bond in drag. For whatever reason. Maybe a bit of smut.

“I would like to officially state for the record that I am unhappy about this.” Q said, adjusting the hem of his skirt. 

“Oh, stop.” Bond waved him off. “It’s not a big deal.”

“Says the one in the bloody pantsuit.” Q hissed under his breath. “You look at the very least, androgynous. I, however, look like someone’s mum.” 

”It’s just for a few hours.” Bond said quietly. Then he had an idea. 

”Follow me.” He said. 

Q obliged, but not without questioning their destination as Bond led him down a series of hallways. They were in a hotel for a woman’s health conference, following a mark that engaged high-ranking women in human trafficking. At the moment, though, their target was taking a very dull lunch. 

Bond pulled Q into a bathroom- the woman’s restroom, to be exact. Quickly, he maneuvered Q into a stall and locked it behind him before pressing Q up against the wall. Slowly, he nipped and kissed Q’s lips before getting on his knees. 

”I see one benefit of the skirt, at least.” Bond grinned. He reached between Q’s legs and hooked a finger through the women’s panties that Q was wearing. He jerked them down to meet the tops of the thigh-high stockings that Q was wearing, and then slowly nipped his way up the man’s thigh until his head ducked under the skirt and Q wasn’t able to see what Bond was doing. 

The wet heat that wrapped around Q’s cock made him groan and move himself further into Bond’s mouth. 

Maybe the skirt was worth it after all.


	29. Attention Divided

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello, I'd like to prompt Bond and an ongoing war between him and Q's corgi for the attention of the quartermaster

The dog began to howl the second that Q walked into the door. Bond, who had been sitting on the sofa with a book and a cup of coffee, shot an eye full of daggers at the small beast. 

”What’re you doing, Argyle?” Q cooed to the tiny Corgi as he made his way through the room. His arms were laden with groceries. 

“Need a hand?” Bond offered. Q jumped. 

“Shit, James. I didn’t realize you were there.” 

Meanwhile, Argyle spun and barked underfoot. Bond had the strong urge to lock the tiny mutt in a closet. He barely refrained. 

”Not a shock, considering the damn dog is the first thing you greet when you walk in the door and the last one you bid goodnight before you go to bed.” Bond said sourly.

“Are you seriously jealous of my dog?” Q asked. He could not contain the smirk that bloomed across his face. 

“I’m jealous of anyone who takes your attention away from me.” Bond pointed out. “However, in this case yes, I am specifically talking about that bloody dog.” 

”Aright Argyle, let’s go.” Q said, gesturing to the pup. The dog followed Q through the kitchen eagerly, but slowed when Q opened the back door and gestured the dog outside. Bond followed as well, and watched. 

”Go on, Argyle. Just for a half hour.” Q said as the dog begrudgingly went outside. 

”Thank you.” Bond said after Q shut the door. Q smiled and wrapped his arms around Bond’s body. 

”You’re welcome.” Q said. “Of course, this means he gets to sleep on the bed tonight.” 

Bond sighed. “Fine. We’ll call it a compromise.”


	30. Arachnophobia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Q is freaked out by spiders (tiny beasts with too many legs, do you feel me here?) And he sees one in their flat and James teases him but rescues them from the monster. And Q makes them check their blankets and pillows and ~bodies~ before going to sleep to make sure there aren't any more spiders. <3

“GET IT!” Q screeched. “Get the damned thing!” 

“Q, calm down.” Bond said, alarmed. “What am I getting?” 

“It’s on the wall of the bedroom. Ugh!” Q shuddered involuntarily. ”Get it. Get it. Get it.”

Bond stepped past Q and walked cautiously into the bedroom, but stopped short when he saw the squat little spider sitting on the wall. 

”That’s it?” Bond asked. “It’s just a bloody spider, Q.”

“Just a bloody spider? SPIDERS ARE POISONOUS. THEY HAVE EIGHT LEGS. THEY SHOOT THINGS FROM THEIR BUMS.” 

Bond turned and looked at his Quartermaster. “You’re having me on, right? That’s what this is?”

”It’s moving!” Q shrieked- literally, shrieked- and pointed wildly to the wall. 

“It isn’t a threat to national security, Q! Calm down!” Bond grabbed a glass and a piece of paper and carefully maneuvered the spider into his trap before taking it to the window and setting it free. 

“We have to check for more.” Q insisted. He began to tear the sheets off of the bed and shake them violently. “There may be more. They lay eggs.” 

“I’m sure we’re fine, Q.” Bond said, picking up a pillow that Q had tossed onto the floor. 

“What if they’re on me?” Q wailed, swiping his hands down his body. 

“Looks like a strip search is in order.” Bond joked, pulling Q close to him. He pulled his quartermaster into a brief kiss before submitting to a thorough check of the entire apartment for eight-legged beasties.


	31. Pocket-sized Quartermaster

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pocket!Q, 00q prompt? There's a strange genetic mutation in the world that makes some people pocket-sized. Every 00 agent has their own pocket sized quartermaster. James just happens to love his.

”I’m sorry, you what?” Q asked, sitting on the table. His back leaned against a bottle. 

“I love you.” Bond said, touching his hands to his face. Q watched him with a steady gaze and sighed. 

“James,” He began quietly. 

“You don’t have to tell me that I’m crazy.” Bond cut him off. “I know that nothing can ever happen, that it isn’t fair to you, I get it. But you’re the voice in my head when we’re out on missions, you’re the only person who truly knows me.”

“I’m sorry Bond.” Q said sadly. He wanted this just as much as Bond did. “I just don’t know what we could do.” 

“We could try.” Bond whispered, eyeing Q closely. He reached out his pinky finger, and was relieved when Q stood and hugged him by wrapping his arms around Bond’s smallest digit. 

“Maybe.” Q said quietly. “Maybe.”


	32. Stolen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> kidnapped Q plus aftermath

”Give him here.” Bond demanded, holding his arms out. 

“Sir, he’s in shock. He’s not fit to-“

”I said, give him to me.” Bond repeated. His tone was laced with menace. The medical staff shifted uncomfortably and then allowed Q to get up from the stretcher in the ambulance. 

“Go to medical tomorrow.” The medic ordered. Q nodded blankly, and stumbled into Bond’s open arms. Slowly, Bond led Q to his car, where he nestled the Quartermaster into his back seat before pulling out into London traffic. 

“How long was I gone?” Q asked as Bond pulled up to the building where Q lived. 

“A month.” Bond said tersely. He bit back the hatred that he felt for himself; for taking so long, for losing Q in the first place. He kept it at bay only because Q came first. He couldn’t lose it just yet. “Come on now, let’s get you some tea and into bed.”

”That sounds nice.” Q said tiredly. He was thin. Too thin. He was covered in scratches and bruises and showed signs of dehydration and exhaustion. 

Q’s bed was quite large, and outfitted with fluffy down quilts and pillows. As a man who had suffered from insomnia during his teens, Q had sprung for expensive sleep equipment once he had the money. Bond propped him up on some pillows and left briefly to set the kettle to boil. When he returned, Q was staring at the white walls, panic in his eyes.

The steaming mug of tea was placed on the bedside table beside Q, and Bond quickly crawled into bed beside his Quartermaster. Gently, he wrapped his arms around him, and let his chin rest against Q’s shoulder.

”You’ll be okay, Q.” Bond whispered softly.

”Promise?” Q asked lowly.

”I promise.” Bond assured him, and held him tighter.


	33. Literary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bond and Q connecting over literature. Maybe Bond is surprised that he and Q have similar tastes or something of that nature.

”What’s wrong with McCarthy?” Q asked, somewhat distracted. 

“Nothing.” Bond replied, opening the book. Q had clearly read it before- there were passages underlined in multiple colors of ink on every other page or so. “You just didn’t strike me as someone who would read his work.”

“You thought I stuck to binary?” Q glanced over his glasses at Bond. 

”Harry Potter, more like.” Bond smiled. 

”Because you think I’m a nerd or because you think I’m that young?” Q asked. 

When Bond didn’t answer right away, Q sighed and printed out a series of documents. He sealed them in an envelope, pulled a fabricated passport from his desk, and handed them over. 

”That’ll be all, Bond. Have a safe flight.” 

Three weeks later, Q found himself outside of Bond’s office. It was at the end of a seldom-used corridor where all of the double-oh agents were given tiny rooms with computers and views of the city in hopes that they would contain themselves between assignments. Q knocked at the door, and entered before Bond answered. 

Q was surprised to find Bond sitting at his desk reading a book. 

”So you’re a Vonnegut fan?” Q asked, stepping forward and placing a case on Bond’s desk. 

”Sometimes.” Bond said. He marked his page and closed the book. “Although Bluebeard is proving to be a bit difficult to get through.” 

“I preferred Cat’s Cradle, myself.” Q said. 

”Cat’s Cradle was very good.” Bond agreed. “Anyway, what did you need?”

“You’ve been re-issued a firearm.” Q said, opening the case in his hands. “It’s a Walther PPK, customized to your grip as before, with a special panel in the back of it where three small explosives are stored.” 

Unfortunately, the explosives would prove to work very effectively. After his next mission, Bond was hospitalized with injuries that he sustained after blowing up half of a city block. Q arrived in medical, a book tucked under his arm. 

“How are you, Bond?” Q asked, taking a seat by the agent’s bedside. For the most part, the man’s injuries didn’t look terrible. He was being kept for another week for observation and rehabilitation purposes. 

”Bored.” Bond said. He shifted listlessly. “Thanks for the explosives by the way. They saved my arse.” 

”They also nearly killed you.” Q noted. “Maybe we’ll tone down their potency for the next batch.”

Bond laughed and patted Q on the shoulder affectionately. Q rolled his eyes and held up the book. 

“Anyway, I figured you’d be getting bored, so I brought you this.” Q said, handing the book over. 

”The Collected Short Stories of Vladimir Nabokov.” Bond read the cover. “Thank you, Q.”

“I saw that you were reading Pale Fire on your last assignment. Figured you may find some stories in here that you’d like. I underlined some of my personal favorites in the table of contents, I hope you don’t mind.” Q said. 

”This is wonderful, thank you.” Bond’s smile looked so sincere that Q felt his stomach roll over a bit. He quickly stood, gave Bond a curt nod, and said goodbye.

“Will you come back?” Bond asked, looking up from the book, which was already open in his lap. “I’m sure we’ll have plenty to talk about once I’ve worked through a few of these.” 

Q smiled. “I’ll come by tomorrow.” He promised. 

”Looking forward to it.” Bond replied, and then began to read.


	34. Recovery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Q got injured on a mission with 007 and finally gets home from hospital. James helps him getting better, even though the Quartermaster doesn't want help in the first place. Fluffy please!

”James, let me go.” Q demanded. He stood uncomfortably on the front step of his flat, wrestling with the keys in his hands. He flipped through them quickly, looking for the short silver one that would slide home in the lock. 

Bond had a hand around Q’s upper arm. The agent’s other arm was slung low against Q’s hips protectively. He was careful not to lay his arm directly against Q’s skin, which would still be raw and healing from burn wounds under his loose clothes. 

They made their way through the flat and Q slowly set about boiling water and rooting through his cabinets. His movements were stiff, and he winced often. 

”Q, you were told to rest. Let me get it.” Bond said. He kept his tone gentle. Q’s eyes flashed as he looked towards Bond. 

”I’ve got it. I’m fine.” He snapped. He opened the lid of the kettle and put it in the sink to fill. In frustration, he jerked it out of the sink and gasped, dropping the filled kettle onto the floor with a loud crash. Bond rushed forward and put his hands on Q’s shoulder, trying to hold him upright as he rode out waves of pain. 

“Fuck fuck fuck!” Q yelled. “Let me go, James! I’m fine!”

“Q, you’re not fine.” Bond said softly. He wrapped his arms around Q’s upper back, which had been relatively unscathed, and pressed him into a hug. 

”I just want to be okay.” Q said. His voice was muffled by Bond’s suit jacket, but Bond could feel tears pressing into the side of his neck. 

”You will be.” Bond said, reaching up to run his fingers through Q’s hair. “You just need more time.” 

After a few moments, Bond convinced Q to abandon the mess in the kitchen to change into dry clothes. Then, they settled onto the sofa in the sitting room and put on a history documentary that they had been wanting to see. 

Q was perched gently between Bond’s legs, the warmth from his small body a huge comfort to Bond, who had thought that he had lost his Quartermaster for a day or so back in the field. He watched the side of Q’s face as the show ran. He marveled at the dark curls and the lightness of Q’s face, and was relieved that as they sat together, the lines of pain faded from around Q’s eyes.


	35. Ageing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Can you write about old James who dies just because he is already too old and Q is left alone with a broken heart but still happy about spending so much time with James before he died.
> 
> Warning: Major Character Death

Three months, two weeks, and five days after their twenty-fifth anniversary, James Bond passed away quietly in the home that he shared with his Quartermaster. 

Q was by his bedside, his heart clenched like a vice as he listened to Bond slowly fade away from him. There were lines drawn deep across Bond’s face, and his eyes were fading. Q wished that they had had more time. 

”I’m glad you’re here, Q.” Bond said quietly, each word wrapped around a shallow breath. 

”Where else would I be, James?” Q asked with a small smile. He knew that he was sharing a series of moments with Bond that terrified the former agent. Dying in a blaze of action and glory was one thing. Sitting in death’s foyer waiting to be claimed was a different beast altogether. There was time to think, to fear, and to mourn for time’s quick flight. 

“I’m just glad you’re here.” Bond sighed. 

Cautiously, Q stood and walked around to the other side of the bed. He crawled in slowly- careful not to rattle Bond. He shifted so that he was able to wrap his arms around the fading man, and hold him close. 

“I love you so much, James.” Q whispered. 

“I love you too, Q.” Bond replied. He took another deep breath, and then slowly fell into sleep. Q laid with him for a long time, stroking his pale hair and listening to him breathe. 

When the breaths stopped, Q couldn’t bring himself to let go of Bond. He just laid there, trying to keep just one last moment with his agent. His Bond. His James.


	36. Toothache

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Q is a notorious sweet tooth, but hates/is scared of the dentist. So one morning, he wakes up with a worrisome toothache but doesn't want to go get it checked out. Bond finds this idiotic.

”Let me get this straight.” Bond said, staring down at Q, who was seated at the end of the bed. “You spend all day tracking down terrorists and hit men with some of the most dangerous men and women in Britain. You create weapons that science fiction writers would have nightmares about, and you can stage a coup in a third world country within the span of an hour, but you’re afraid of the bloody dentist?”

“Some of us didn’t grow up with dental.” Q said grumpily. 

“Maybe if you had laid off the sweets.” Bond said pointedly. The Quartermaster had a habit of going through a fair bit of chocolate in a given week. 

”Oh don’t preach, it’s unbecoming.” Q said, standing. 

”Call your dentist, maybe there’s an opening today.” Bond said as he wrapped a tie around the back of his neck. 

“I don’t have a dentist.” Q said as he brushed past Bond. The agent followed and watched as Q swallowed a few painkillers down with a handful of water straight from the tap. 

“Christ, you really are a child.” Bond said, walking up behind Q. “Come on then, let’s get you to headquarters. They’ll be able to sort you out.” 

Q glanced at Bond, hesitation written on every pore of his face. “I don’t know, James.”

”What if I promised to hold your hand the whole time?” Bond whispered, his breath close to Q’s ear. 

“Maybe.” Q conceded. “But I’m not making any promises.”

“Fair enough.” Bond said. He planted a kiss on top of Q’s head.


	37. Push and Pull

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> so Q finds 007 in a pub trying to drink away his guilt for M; he tries to reason with him but they end up fighting, without wanting it Bond pushes Q hurting him; after he takes care of him and Q forgives him, bonus if sex ensues but a cuddly scene is also good

There were two empty glasses on the table, and the waitress had already carried away two others by Q’s last count. 007 had turned up at MI6 just long enough to debrief, and then had gone to the closest pub. Not exactly an ideal security situation, but in light of M’s death, some things could be overlooked. 

“You did everything you could.” Q said, sliding into the chair next to Bond. 

“Fuck off, Q.” Bond said. 

“Bond-“

“No Q. Leave me alone.”

“You can’t just drink yourself to death, Bond.”

“I don’t see anyone likely to stop me.” 

“Of course not. You’re bloody James Bond. Most powerful man to defend the empire.” Q snapped, standing.

“Better than a spotted arse who hides behind his computer all bloody day.” Bond muttered. 

“Fuck you, Bond.” Q said, lingering at the table. “Christ, no wonder we’re always scrambling to save ourselves if we rely on the likes of you to get us by.” 

Q didn’t feel the punch, but he felt it blossom across his cheekbone about the same time as he landed on the table behind him; broken glass slicing into his shoulder and arm as he hit the wood.

“Fuck.” Bond was looming over him, and other patrons at the pub were pulling out their phones, ready to dial for emergency services. 

“Q, I’m sorry.” Bond said, reaching down to pick Q up. “Shit, you’re bleeding.”

“It’s fine, 007.” Q winced as he stood. Blood was flowing freely from his arm. 

“It’s not. Come on.”

Bond took Q back to his flat. They went into the bathroom and Bond pulled out a first aid kit. He watched guiltily as Q removed his ruined sweater and used it to try and stem the bleeding. 

“Turn around.” Bond said. Q obliged, and he tried not to catch the Quartermaster’s eye in the mirror as he began to clean out the wounds. 

“None of these need stitches.” Bond said after he bandaged up the last of them. 

“Thank you, 007.” 

“Please don’t thank me.” Bond said quietly. He took a step back so that Q could turn and face him. There was a dark bruise on Q’s cheek, and the beginning signs of a black eye. 

“Let me get you some ice.” Bond said, turning to leave. 

“Not quite yet.” Q said, reaching out to take Bond’s hand. He pulled the agent close to him, and slowly began to trail his fingers over the man’s hardened body. 

“You may be concussed.” Bond said after a moment, desperately trying to keep himself in check while every fiber of his being wanted nothing more than to wrap his body around Q’s. It didn’t help that he was so evidently interested, judging by the peak in his trousers. 

“I’m nothing of the sort. Give me some credit, at least.” Q said, smirking. He leaned forward and took Bond’s lower lip between his teeth before proceeding to nip his way up Bond’s jaw. 

“Oh and Bond?” Q paused just below his ear. “If you ever lay a hand on me again, I’ll wipe every single record of you that’s ever existed, down to your grocery store savings card.” 

“I consider myself advised.”


	38. Under His Breath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 5 times bond over heard q talking to himself and 1 time he spoke up or something similar it doesn't have to be a 5 plus 1 it could just be a muttering fic

Sometimes Q forgot to mute himself when he and Bond were connected over the Comms. 

“Turn left, Bond. There will be a stairwell up ahead.” 

“Thank you, Q.” 

“Now to just override these protocols, and we’ll be all set.” Q muttered to himself. Bond grinned as he listened to Q work. It was calming, knowing that back it London there was a boffin who was working his arse off trying to keep him alive. 

“I’ve turned left.” Bond murmured as he began to ascend the stairs. 

“So I see.” Q replied. “Give us a moment.” 

“If I could just see him… surely there’s a security feed that can be hacked.” 

“Q?”

“I’m just trying to establish a line of sight, 007. Continue on. Tell me when you’ve reached the ninth floor.”

Bond continued upward, carefully navigating past the doors to their respective floors. He moved quietly, the only sounds coming from the communications piece inside of his ear.

“Thank god.” Bond heard, wrapped in an exhale. 

“I’m approaching the ninth floor.” Bond said. 

“Right then. Wait for my signal, and don’t linger after.” 

“Waiting.” 

“And… wait…go.”

Bond opened the door a crack, and slid a smoking canister through the open space and into the room beyond. 

“Get the fuck out of there, Bond. Come on.” Bond heard the panic in Q’s voice, and he began to head up towards the roof of the building. 

“It’s always a comfort, having you in my ear, Q.” Bond said as he ran. 

“I aim to please, 007.” Q replied with a laugh.


	39. Femme Fatale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> fem!Q prompt! No one realizes Q is actually a female until she goes to help Bond on a mission

“We’re sending Q your way.” Moneypenny told Bond over the phone. 

“I thought that you said Q didn’t fly?” Bond said, switching the phone from one ear to the other while he navigated the nightmarish circle around the Arc d’Triumphe with relative ease. 

”Q doesn’t.” Moneypenny said. “Just be in the hotel bar at 9:30pm sharp and try not to be a complete arse.” 

”I always do my best, Moneypenny.” Bond said coyly. He laughed when Moneypenny hung up on him, and he pulled up to the entrance of the hotel and handed his keys off to the valet. 

When 9:30 came around, Bond sat at a table at the side of the bar with a scotch on the rocks in his hand. He surveyed the area carefully, looking for the prototypical “Q” type; older, slightly eccentric, elbow patches. 

At 9:29 a tall, dark-haired woman walked into the bar in a sharp-looking, low-cut business suit. She paused at the entrance of the bar for a moment and took a look at the room. Bond found himself instantly attracted to her, and chided himself. He was there to meet with Q, fun would have to come later. 

Of course, the last thing that Bond expected was for the woman to catch his eye, smile, and then walk over to him confidently. 

”Drinking alone?” She asked, draping an arm over the chair across from Bond. 

”For now.” Bond said with a smile. He took a sip of his drink. 

”Is that an invitation?” She asked. Bond noticed that her fingernails were perfectly manicured, but also very short.

”Regretfully, no. I’m afraid I have an appointment with someone.” Bond said.

”Shame.” The woman smiled. “Although I think I can change your mind.”

”Oh really?” Bond asked, quirking an eyebrow. “And how’s that.” 

”Because I’m your appointment.” She said with a sly smile. She extended her hand. “007.”

Bond chuckled to himself and extended a hand of his own. 

”Q.”


	40. Faint

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Q is sick/or injured and James takes care of him. Yes, they are a couple. And yes, Q have a cat.

Bond slid the key into the lock and pushed the door open with his foot. Immediately after getting into his flat a fluffy grey cat weaved in-between Bond’s legs. 

”I don’t have anything for you, Styx.” Bond said, putting his small carry-on luggage on the kitchen counter. He had been on an assignment for nearly a week, which made him eager to get home. The cat mewed, and jumped up next to the bag that Bond was pulling a handful of items from.

“Q, I’m home!” Bond called. “You may want to call off your bloody cat. He’s staring. Again. Shoo.” Bond waved Styx off of the counter, and he descended to the floor.

There was no answer. Bond put the last of the groceries in the refrigerator and wandered from the kitchen to the main room, Styx trailing behind him.

“Q?” The main room was empty, so Bond turned and began to walk down the hallway.

That was when he saw Q’s crumpled body on the hallway.

“Q? Q get up.” Bond crouched on the floor and turned Q over onto his back. Styx sat down next to Bond and meowed loudly. As Bond began to press his fingers against Q’s throat, Q’s eyes fluttered open.

“James?” Q blinked heavily, and looked up at Bond. “James, something’s wrong.” 

Quickly Bond scooped Q into his arms and carried him outside to his car, where he tucked him into the back seat.

“Where are you taking me?” Q asked. Bond could hear the terror in his voice.

“I’m just going to take you to medical. We’ll get you sorted.” Bond said soothingly. He placed a quick kiss on Q’s forehead and then shut the car door so that he could get into the driver’s seat. Carefully he eased them into traffic and took the quickest route he knew to MI6.

Five hours later, Bond and Q were walking to Bond’s car. Their arms were linked, and Bond was supporting most of Q’s weight. Carefully, Q got into the passenger seat of the car, and they returned to their flat, where Styx was waiting impatiently by the door.

“We need to get you to bed.” Bond said, placing a guiding hand on Q’s lower back.

“I’m sorry.” Q said miserably, allowing himself to be steered towards the bedroom.

“It’s fine, Q. We’ll just have to make sure that it doesn’t happen again.” Bond said, unwilling to argue with Q about the matter just yet. The medical team at Headquarters had quickly found that Q was malnourished. While they placed Q on an IV, Bond had gone through the hours that Q had logged the week that he was on assignment. Aside from that day, Q hadn’t left at all.

Q collapsed onto the bed while Bond pulled off his shoes and tucked them at the edge of the bed. He was already dressed in sweatpants and a t-shirt, so there wasn’t much of a need to undress Q further. Bond left the roof briefly to put the kettle on, and returned a minute later with a cup of Earl Grey in one hand while he loosened his tie with the other.

“Here, Q.” Bond set the tea on the bedside table and crawled in next to Q, laying his head in the crook of the younger man’s shoulder. For a long while, he just felt the comforting rhythm of Q’s breath as he sipped his tea. Eventually, Styx came in the room and settled on the bed with them, purring contentedly when Bond relented and scratched the cat behind the ears.

“I’m sorry, James.” Q repeated one he had finished his tea. He rolled over and settled himself against Bond’s chest, his ear just over Bond’s heart.

“It’s okay, love.” Bond said, leaning down to kiss Q. “I’ll take care of you.”


	41. Worship

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Body worship, trust, love, thrill.

”Come here.” Bond gestured to Q, who was standing by the window, arms crossed over his chest. Bond was laying bare-chested in the bed in a nest of pillows, blankets pooled around his waist. 

”What’s wrong?” Q asked. He turned back towards Bond and crawled his way across the bed. He settled in next to Bond, his head propped up on one arm. The other he draped over his side. 

“You’re gorgeous.” Bond murmured, pulling Q closer. In the bright light of morning, his scars stood out against his sun-kissed skin. Q trailed a long, thin finger over the muscles of Bond’s abdomen and smiled up at him, his hair dipping into his eyes. Q loved the pure energy contained in Bond’s body; the coiled strength that could tear Q apart if that was what Bond wanted. But as Q was pulled against Bond’s chest, he knew that he was perfectly safe. 

Bond wrapped his arms around Q’s body. Through the thin fabric of Q’s shirt, he could feel the jut of Q’s bones pressing into his skin. He was reminded of the hollow bones of a bird whenever he held Q, but he knew better than to consider Q to be weak. There was a quickness about his quartermaster- something daring and eloquent that Bond wasn’t entirely able to explain. 

They laid in bed together, Q held close in Bond’s arms, and wasted away the morning occupied by nothing but one another.


	42. The Voice in His Head

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I've always wondered what it would be like if James had comms in when he was with Silva and Q heard everything when Silva was coming onto him, or a similar situation?

Somehow, the incoming receiver on Bond’s comm had gone out. He wasn’t able to hear anything from Q-branch. There was nothing but radio silence. As the ship docked on the desolate island, Bond realized that he felt isolated, alone.

He was taken to a room with a high ceiling and too many windows. There was a draft, but Bond fought the tremors of cold as he was shoved into a chair. A short distance away there were computers stripped of their covers- colored wires wound throughout the leftover bones. 

An elevator descended into the room, and a large man with blond hair walked towards Bond. Suddenly, static filled Bond’s ear. He felt his body seize in surprise, but tried to relax himself. If there was static, then Q knew that they had lost contact, and he was working on re-establishing the connection. 

Every few seconds the static would return. Bond clung to the frayed sound as the man walked closer. For a short moment, during a laborious anecdote about rats on an island, Bond thought he heard Q’s voice. 

The man sat down across from Bond, and Bond felt the threat of immediacy begin to build in his chest. The man continued to speak, rambling about technology and power to the degree that seemed to border on obsessive delusion. 

”Bond?” The comm crackled to life. Bond’s chest swelled as Q’d voice rang in his ear. “Bond, if you can hear me, clear your throa-” The comm cut out again. 

Bond obliged just as the blond man stood and sauntered over to his electronics. He heard static once again, and was relieved to know that although his connection to Q was tentative at best, that Q could hear him. Someone at MI6 was able to look out for him. He wasn’t alone. 

Then there were hands on the buttons of Bond’s shirt, exposing his skin. Bond’s heart began to race, and a dull panic made his mouth feel dry. The hands moved down his chest and onto his knees.

”Bond.” The comm crackled to life again. “Remain calm, we’re locating your position. There are re-routing programs that are scattering the radio waves.” This time, Q’s voice was maintained, unbroken. 

The hands on his knees then pressed inwards against his thighs and moved slowly upward. Bond’s muscles tightened and he fought the base instinct that told him to throw his body, chair and all, out of the reach of the threat in front of him. 

What stopped Bond, what kept him centered, was the sound of Q tapping in his ear. He could hear Q mumble to one of his assistants, the sound of his voice was soothing, for reasons that Bond couldn’t fathom. 

“There’s always a first time…” The man said, pressing his thumbs firmly into Bond’s groin. 

Bond’s mind blanked out for a split second. He had no idea how to reply. In his ear, he heard the typing stop. 

”I want you all to get him the fuck out of there.” Q was saying, his voice fierce. “Right this bloody instant.” 

”What makes you think this is my first time?” Bond replied to the man whose hands were lingering on him. The hands disappeared, and a coy grin appeared on the man’s face. 

”Bond, we’ve got you. We’ll be there soon.” Q said. 

Bond sighed, and braced himself for the long moments before he would be rescued.


	43. Not So Secret

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Could you write a prompt where everyone (even the postman) knows Q and Bond are in a relationship, but the two of them still thinks it is still a secret?

”You’re going to miss your train.” Bond called from the bedroom. He was shrugging on his suit jacket while Q combed his hair in the bathroom mirror. 

”There’ll be another.” Q said, walking out of the bathroom and past Bond. “Will you be taking the car?” 

“I think so.” Bond said. He pulled a pair of shoes out of the closet and sat at the edge of the bed to toe them on. Q smiled and walked over to Bond, settling himself into his lap, one leg on each side of Bond’s thighs. 

“Are we still on for lunch today?” Q asked, running his hands over Bond’s shoulders. The agent looked up, and nipped the bottom lip of the dark-haired man pressed against him. 

”I think I can scrounge up a meeting around twelve thirty.” 

“Sounds like the perfect time to have to pick up something for R&D.” Q smiled, and pressed his lips against Bond’s. 

\- - -

“My bet is that Bond comes in first.” Tanner said, peering over Moneypenny’s shoulder. They were looking at CCTV footage of the main lobby, same as they did every morning. 

“I bet that Q comes in first, but that Bond heads straight to Q Branch for a ‘private meeting.’”

”Loser buys lunch?” Tanner asked with a smile.

“You’re on.”


	44. Ransom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tortured!Q.

“We want the codes, Q.” The woman ran her fingers up Q’s spine. He felt the sharp points of her fingernails through the thin linen of his shirt, which had been unbuttoned to leave his chest exposed. “You can make this incredibly easy, or we can make this more painful than you can imagine.” 

”I don’t have the codes.” Q said, bristling at the woman’s touch. 

”I see.” The woman’s smile faltered the tiniest bit. She looked up toward the corner of the room behind Q and nodded. A white hot flash of pain seared across Q’s back, followed immediately by two more. Q screamed in pain, low and guttural. 

“Would you like to try again, Q?” The woman asked. “What are the codes to the DeRivio Sequence?” 

Q said nothing. He felt the lashes against his back again. Four. Five. Six. Seven. He screamed and gasped and his chest heaved with the agonizing effort of trying to reel in the string of curses that threatened to fly out of his mouth. 

By the end of the hour, the unknown assailant that loomed behind Q switched from a leather whip to something heavy enough to knock the wind out of Q, which stuck to his skin with small metal barbs. Q’s voice was raspy and ragged, but still he said nothing. He only screamed. Over and over again. 

”Why don’t we try a different tactic?” The woman said finally. She crossed the room and knocked on the door that was settled in a shadowy corner. After a moment the door opened, and a tall man, bound and gagged, was pushed into the room. Q watched in horror as the woman pulled a gun from her hip and pointed it at the newcomer, gesturing for him to fall to his knees. He obliged with an icy glare that softened when he turned his head and saw Q, bloody and bound. 

Instantly Q deflated. They had him. 

”Would you like me to shoot?” The woman asked. But both she and Q knew that it was an unnecessary threat. Q would give her everything. 

”I’ll need a laptop.” Q said heavily. “And I don’t want him touched.” 

Briefly, the woman left, taking the torturer with her. 

”I’m sorry.” Q said, looking into the bright blue eyes that were just a few feet away. 

James Bond just shook his head and shrugged. 

All he wanted was to make sure that Q made it out alive.


	45. The Lingering Past

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Q and James are together. Q was a prostitute in the past. hurt/comfort/angst. Thank you.

“Hey Riley. It’s been awhile.” A slim, neat-looking man sat down on the barstool next to Q. He leaned in close to Q, and rubbed his hand on the small of his back. “I’ve been calling for you. What happened?”

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Q said stiffly, glancing towards the door of the bar.

“Don’t be like that, Riley.” The man said as he squeezed Q’s hip. “I thought we had some really great times.” When the man smiled, his teeth shone brightly; giving them the appearance of being sharp and predatory.

“Please leave me alone.” Q said, shifting out of the man’s reach. “I’m meeting someone.”

“Ah. I see. You’re too good for it unless you’re being paid.” The man pressed himself close to Q, one arm latched around Q’s as the other and reached down in-between Q’s legs. Q jumped in his seat and tried to move away, but the hands that were holding him squeezed tighter, and Q felt the air press out of his lungs.

“Let me go, Stephen.” Q choked out. Stephen grinned, and leaned in closer.

“I thought you would remember me.” He said into Q’s ear.

Q stared down at the bar, trying to breathe deeply. It was easy enough to know that he should just get up, to leave, to walk away. But he felt tied to his seat by the complete embarrassment of his past and the stinging exposure of realizing that it was not as far away as he could have hoped.

“Get your bloody hands off of him. Now.”

Q turned, his face a deep red. Bond was standing behind Stephen, arms crossed over his chest in the posture that Q had seen dozens of times- Bond’s right hand was resting on the handle of his Walther PPK.

Stephen smiled dangerously at Bond, and held his hands up defensively as he stood to concede his stool to Bond.

“Sorry man. Didn’t realize he was with a customer.” He said.

More quickly than Q could have imagined, Bond’s hand pulled from against his chest, wrapped around his gun, and went crashing across Stephen’s mouth. The man ended up bent over the counter, mouth bloody and torn. The bar let in a collective gasp, and then became silent.

“You will not come near him ever again. Do you understand me?” Bond asked, leaning forward to press the muzzle of the gun against Stephen’s hip. “You will forget his name, his face, and you will forget every moment that he was forced to spend with you.”

Stephen groaned painfully, and curled in on himself

“If you don’t,” Bond continued, his voice filled with menace. “I will use every single one of my considerable resources, and I will find you. And I promise you, this evening will look downright fucking pleasant in comparison. Have I made myself abundantly clear?”

There was a nod, a wide-eyed look of fear, and Bond reached out to Q, who stood and shoved past Stephen. He and Bond ducked out of the bar together, and were silent as they walked back to Bond’s flat.

Bond waited on the couch with a drink in his hand while Q excused himself to the bathroom. He listened as the taps ran in the bathroom, and sipped his drink.

Fifteen minutes later, Bond began to worry. He stood and knocked on the bathroom door, but didn’t hear anything on the other side. After a moment of internal debate, he turned the knob and propped the door open a few inches, just so that he could see inside.

The room was thick with steam, which was billowing from the tap at the sink. Q was seated on the floor, staring at his hands, which were red and raw. Bond opened the door more, and crouched down beside him.

“Are you okay?” He asked, knowing full well that Q was not.

“Sometimes I forget.” Q said; his voice subdued. “It seems like it was an entirely different life. Then something like this happens, and it all comes right back.”

“I know.” Bond said, taking Q’s hand. He rubbed small circles into his wrist.

Q’s history was not a secret. How could it be? Every major aspect of his life was in a file in the Employee Records department. If Bond had so desired, he could have made his way in and read anything that he wanted to know. As it was, though, Q had told Bond before they had even gotten together.

When Q was in his early twenties, he had gotten into some trouble. That trouble had led Q under the wing of a man named Sven, who was a small-time drug dealer and pimp. Before the year was out, Q was selling his body for money, all of which went back to Sven. Q’s escape had been a job as a small-time programmer for a man who had been a frequent client of his, which turned into an opportunity in Q Division for MI6, and after three years had culminated in his position as Q. The transfer from under Sven’s thumb to MI6 had not been easy, or clean, or without collateral damage, but for the most part, Q considered it behind him.

Except for days like today.

“I hate this.” Q said, laying his head on Bond’s shoulder. “Every time I have a flashback to my old life, I feel like I don’t own my own body anymore. All I could do was sit there while that arse put his hands on me. I’ve never felt so bloody powerless in my entire life.”

Bond, unsure of what to say, took Q’s hand in his and held him close. He pressed his lips to Q’s forehead.

“For what it’s worth, I don’t think you’re powerless.” Bond said softly


	46. Keychains

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bond brings back cheap keyrings for Q.

“What’s this?” Q asked, glancing at the tiny box that Bond placed on his desk.

“A gift.” Bond replied.

“Is it a consolation present for losing your gun?” Q took off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Those are expensive, you know.”

“Just open it, Q.” Bond rolled his eyes. Q picked the box up and lifted the lid. He raised his eyebrows when he saw the small trinket inside.

“Greetings from Lisbon.” Q read, lifting a plastic keychain with a map of Portugal printed across it. “Uh… thanks, Bond.”

“Anyway, I’m leaving on assignment to Argentina.” Bond said, examining his fingernails.

“As your Quartermaster, you’ll be surprised to learn that I’m aware.” Q said, standing. He picked up a box from his desk and handed it to Bond. “Your travel documents, tracker, and a replacement gun are inside.”

“How’d you know I would need a replacement gun?” Bond asked, taking the box.

“Because I’m your Quartermaster.” Q shrugged. He sat back down, and Bond turned to leave.

Once he left, Q smirked and took out his apartment key. He clipped the keychain onto the ring.

When Bond returned from Argentina, there was a box sitting on Q’s desk when he came back from lunch. The agent wasn’t anywhere to be found, so Q opened the box without him and clipped the new Argentina-shaped, rubber keychain next to the one from Lisbon.

Five months later, Q had amassed a collection of keychains from twenty-seven cities around the world. His keychain was 99% tacky proclamations from foreign countries, and nestled between them all was a single key.

“You know, we can hear you coming down the hall.” Moneypenny noted once as Q was getting ready to head home for the day. “You sound like a musical instrument.”

“Ease off, Eve.” Q said, lifting his bag over his shoulder.

“I’m just saying, he has never brought anything back from anyone. I understand wanted to show it off, make others jealous, but there must be a limit.”

“I’m not trying to make anyone jealous, Moneypenny.” Q said.

“Sure you’re not.” Moneypenny winked. She walked out the door in front of Q. With her back turned, she couldn’t see the grin that stretched across Q’s face.


	47. Fly Me to the Moon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bond catches Q singing Fly me To The Moon (by Frank Sinatra) in the shower and not even knowing he could sing

”Hello?” Bond put his leather briefcase on the floor by the door and loosened his tie as he walked through Q’s flat. 

“Fly me to the moon. Let me play among the stars.”

”Q?” Bond took off his suit jacket and walked down the hallway towards the back half of the apartment. As he made his way further back, he could hear the shower running in the bathroom. 

It was the first time that Bond had ever heard Q sing, and he was surprised to hear how… well… good Q sounded. Smooth and serene, and somehow more sultry than Sinatra’s version. 

“In other words, baby kiss me. Fill my heart with song and let me sing forever more…” 

Bond laid one hand gently on the knob to the bathroom door and turned it slowly. Steam pushed from the room and spread across the hallway. 

“You are all I long for, all I worship and adore.” 

Nestled in the steam was the floor-to-ceiling glass shower and the silhouette of Q, scrubbing his hair on the other side of the glass. Bond smirked and tapped on the glass. His heart swelled when Q opened the door a crack and grinned out at him, water dripping from his curls. 

“Hello love.” Q said, placing a warm, albeit wet kiss on Bond’s lips. 

“Hello.” Bond replied, leaning into the shower to catch Q’s lips before he retreated to rinse his hair. 

The sight of the water sluicing down his lover’s body drew Bond into the shower, clothes and all. He wrapped his arms around Q’s waist and kissed the crook of his shoulder.

”You’ve stopped singing.” Bond noted, squeezing Q tightly. 

“My apologies.” Q said with a small laugh. He took a deep breath and continued. 

“In other words, please be true; in other words, I love you.”


	48. College Days

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Q and Sherlock get into an argument and Q wins. Later Sherlock finds an old video of his younger brother from his college days, drunkenly dancing and singing at a party. Sherlock sends the video to Bond as payback and Q is mortified.

“Erm, Q?” Bond called from the couch. His laptop was propped on his lap and there was a video open in the web browser. 

“What’s wrong, James?” Q asked, wandering from the bedroom into the sitting room. He had gone out to lunch with his brother and had come back flustered, but triumphant. Bond hadn’t asked how the lunch had gone; a lunch with Sherlock Holmes, even when related to him, was bound to be insufferable. Instead, he had given Q his space, and decided to check his e-mail while Q unwound. 

“I got this e-mail…” James trailed off, and pointed to the screen. Q leaned over Bond’s shoulder, and then froze.

On the screen was a very young Q, college-aged, dancing lasciviously on a tabletop with a drink in his hand. Q was bare-chested and very, very drunk. 

“Where did this come from?” Q asked, his voice dangerously low. 

“No idea.” Bond said, staring at the screen. “Anonymous e-mail. Are those leather pants?”

“Don’t change the subj- you opened an e-mail that didn’t indicate a sender? Seriously?” Q straightened and began to pace the room, arms folded over his chest. 

“My laptop. My business.” Bond said for what may have been the thousandth time of the relationship. “And that’s besides the point. What on Earth is this video from?”

“It’s just a college party.” Q said, glancing down. The Q in the video had come down from the table. Suddenly, Q pressed a series of buttons and shut the laptop down. “Nothing out of the ordinary.”

“Q, are you okay? Your ears are bright red.” Bond said, closing his laptop. 

“Fucking Sherlock.” Q snapped, ignoring Bond. “I don’t want to talk about it.” 

“Q, if these videos exist out there-“

“They don’t. It’s from a private file.” Q said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Can we please just let it go?”

Bond looked at Q and sighed. 

“Whatever you’d prefer, Q.” He said. 

The next day, Bond received an angry call from Sherlock rampaging about how all of his electronics had been re-programmed to play obnoxious music and the highest possible volume. Bond handed the phone to Q, who hung it up immediately. 

They never mentioned the video again.


	49. Bend and Break

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I could break you in two." ... "You probably could."

Q was typing on the small, black keyboard that was linked to the computer network that hung on the wall above his desk. On the screen were a series of maps that Q was programming to lay on top of one another to create a unified map of a town in southern Pakistan that MI6 was looking to work in the coming weeks. 

There was a knock on the door, but Q did not look away from the screen above him. 

”Door’s open.” He called. The light from the screen washed his face in a blue glow, and the bridge of his nose was pinched in the effort of keeping his glasses positioned correctly on his face. 

”Q, I’ve been sent down to grab my travel documents for Belize.” 

”Yes, they’re right here.” Q slid them across the table and returned to his work. 

”You’re aware that your job description includes actual socialization with human beings, yes?” Bond asked, picking up the envelope and tucking it into his pocket. 

”You’re aware that your position as a gun-for-hire does not exactly qualify you to comment on my people skills?” Q asked, glancing over. 

”Watch your mouth. I could break you in two.” Bond said, stepping closer. 

”You probably could.” Q shrugged. “But it isn’t something I’m worried about. You wouldn’t initiate a hit unless it was handed to you in a folder by M.” He turned and looked at Bond, who was standing incredibly close to him. 

”You’d best hope for your sake that you’re right.” Bond said, leaning close to Q to whisper into his ear. The warmth of Bond’s breath on his skin made Q’s collar feel tight. 

Q gulped, and Bond smirked. He spun on his heel and left the room, abandoning Q to the mix of confused feelings swirling in his chest.


	50. Sibling Rivalry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bond meets Q's (hot) sister. She almost exactly like Q, except Q's the genius obviously. Q thinks he's lost any chance he might have had with Bond and is completely miserable. (But has he really lost his chance?)

She had long, dark curls that fell to her shoulders and green eyes that peeks out from behind thick, curled eyelashes. She was dressed in dark black pants, and a white collared shirt underneath a black v-neck sweater. Her heels clicked on the hardwood floors as she crossed in front of the bar and made her way to the back of the pub, where Q, Moneypenny, and Bond were sitting at a table having a drink. Q glanced up and started at the approach of the woman. 

”What are you doing here?” He asked, fixing his tie. Moneypenny raised her eyebrows. Bond glanced over as well, his eyes beginning at the high heels on he woman’s feet and up her legs and up towards her eyes. 

”I called your assistant and he told me where you were.” The woman said, pulling a stool over tot he table and sitting down next to Q. 

”Someone’s getting fired.” Moneypenny murmured to Bond. Q shot her a look before turning clearing his throat. 

“James, Eve, this is my little sister Katrina.” Q said. “Trina, these are some of my coworkers.” 

“It’s nice to meet you.” Katrina said, nodding to each of them. “I’m sorry to interrupt, I called in and found out Tommy was here, and I was in the area, so I just thought I’d pop by for a second.” 

Eve grinned widely, and Bond- who had raised his glass to his lips- choked on his drink at the sound of Q’s real name. 

Katrina slid into the empty stool between Bond and Moneypenny. 

“So, you all work at the same IT company as Tommy?” Katrina asked, adjusting her sweater. Bond glanced at Katrina briefly and laughed. 

“You could say that.” Bond said. 

“So you’re both computer programmers too, then?” Katrina asked, her eyes flitting up and down Bond’s body in disbelief. Moneypenny rolled her eyes and nudged Q under the table. It was unnecessary, however, as Q had not looked away from Bond’s face since Katrina had returned to the table. 

“Hey Trina, I’m heading out.” Q said suddenly, finishing his drink in a gulp. “Want to share a cab?” 

And so Q threw a few pounds onto the table to cover his and his sister’s tab and hurried Trina out the door, casting a glance over his shoulder at Bond before he disappeared outside. 

When they got into the cab, Q rounded on his sister. 

”What in the bloody hell is wrong with you?” He asked, digging around in his pocket for a cigarette. 

”You said you weren’t sure if Bond was straight or not. I decided to help you figure it out.” Trina said. She pulled her mirror out of her purse and checked her reflection. “Now you can stop going on and on about it at breakfast on Saturdays.” 

”Well I hope you’re happy, because now that he’s seen you any chance I had is clearly shot to hell.”

 

”Would you relax? He isn’t interested in me.” Katrina said, returning the mirror to her purse. 

”He couldn’t stop looking at you, Trina.” Q argued, taking a drag. 

”What table were you at? I’ve never had to work so hard for such a minimal amount of attention in my life.” Trina said as the cab pulled up to the curb. “Well, this is me. Good luck, sweetie. Just… don’t wait too long before going for it, okay?” She leaned over and placed a kiss on Q’s cheek and departed, giving Q a small wave before she climbed the steps to her flat. 

Q sighed, and gave the cabbie his address. They pulled back out onto the street, and wove away into London traffic.

\----  
"Your sister seemed sweet." Moneypenny said, sitting on the edge of Q's desk. Q gave a grunt in response, but otherwise did not look up from his computer. 

"Granted, it's hard to really get to know a girl when you're whisking her away not fifteen minutes after she's arrived." Moneypenny continued. 

"It was more than fifteen minutes, Eve." Q said, glancing over. 

"Not the point, Tommy." Moneypenny laughed. 

"It's Q. Don't make me pull rank." Q said grumpily. 

"I just don't see why you rushed out of there, is all." Moneypenny said in an attempt to placate Q. 

"I was just trying to avoid a repeat of history." Q said. "Now can I please get back to work?" 

Moneypenny left, but she was replaced not ten minutes later by Bond, who strode into Q's office with unabashed confidence. 

"Q." Bond nodded. 

"James." Q replied, turning away from his computer to focus on Bond. "Sometime you need?"

"Your sister seemed nice." Bond said, stalling. Q visibly deflated. 

"It's an impression she's perfected over time." Q said, returning to his computer. 

"You can certainly see your influence on her." Bond said, taking a seat in the chair next to Q's desk. This statement confused Q, and he glanced at Bond. 

"What do you mean?" He asked, suspiciously. 

"Never mind." Bond shrugged, smoothing the lapels on his coat. After a beat he spoke again. 

"Q, would you be interested in going out for drinks sometime?"

"We went out for drinks yesterday, Bond." Q said.

There was amused patience etched into the lines of Bond's face. He smiled. 

"I meant without the... company. Just you and myself. If you didn't mind." 

"Are you asking me out?" 

"Welcome to the conversation." Bond said, standing. "What time do you get off tonight?"

"I... uh... seven." Q stammered. His ears and neck were becoming a deepening red. 

Bond leaned over Q's desk to whisper into his ear. 

"Then I'll meet you at seven." He said, breath ghosting over the shell of Q's ear. 

"See you then." Q said, shock evident on his face. 

He waited until Bond left the room, closing the door behind him, to take out his mobile. He pressed a number on his speed dial and lifted the phone to his ear.

"Hello? Trina? You'll never guess what just happened..."

\---------------------------------------------------

“So is your name really Tommy?” Bond asked as he and Q walked across the parking garage. 

“I’m sorry?” Q asked, snapping to attention. He had been watching Bond as they walked, taking in the sharp angles of the grey suit that Bond was wearing. 

Bond chuckled softly and pointed his keys at a silver Audi parked just up ahead. The lights flashed as the doors unlocked, and Bond led the way to the passenger side of the car. He opened the door and gestured for Q to get inside. 

”Uh, thanks.” Q said, folding himself into the passenger seat. 

“So, Tommy? Is that your given name?” Bond asked as he reversed out of the parking spot. 

“It’s Charles, actually. Tommy is a weird pet name that my sister never grew out of.” Q said. “But truly, I prefer Q.” 

”Noted.” Bond said with a smile. “I was surprised that your sister didn’t know what you really did for a living.”

”It’s supposed to be top-secret.” Q said, raising an eyebrow.

”Yes, but-“

”Are we going to be speaking at length about Trina?” Q asked warily. Bond glanced over and saw the look of trepidation on his Quartermaster’s face. 

”I won’t say another word about her, if you’d like.” Bond said, pulling through the London streets. 

”No, it’s not… I just…” Q fumbled, and ran his hands desperately through his already untidy hair. Sensing Q’s distress, Bond signaled a turn and pulled over to the side of the road. 

”What’s wrong, Q?” Bond asked. 

”Shit. I’m sorry, I just… I have a bit of a hangup…” Q fumbled, his face growing increasingly red as they spoke. 

”Your sister?” Bond asked warily. 

“The people who meet her tend to prefer her company to mine.” Q said finally. He was aware that he had thoroughly chucked the date to hell by that point, so he was purely motivated by saving some semblance of a working relationship with Bond by being plainly honest. 

”That’s ridiculous.” Bond said, shocking Q. “Not that I know very much about your sister at all, but I have a hard time believing that every person prefers her.” 

”Well, I don’t know what to tell you then.” Q shrugged. Bond nodded, and after a moment he pulled back onto the road. 

”If you drop me off up here, I can take the subway home.” Q said, pointing through the windshield.

”I thought you agreed to dinner.” Bond turned, his brow furrowed. 

”You still want to go to dinner?” Q asked, dubiously. 

”We’re going to have to work on your confidence.” Bond said, shaking his head. “You’re so easily dissuaded.” 

”If you don’t mind, I’m not going to take that to heart.” Q said, rolling his eyes. “My confidence, typically, is fine.” 

”Good to know. Also, I hope you like Italian fare. I wasn’t entirely sure.”

“That sounds perfect.” Q said, relieved.


	51. Insecurities

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a not so flufy fic where Q is insecure about his body but won't admit it.
> 
> (full version)

Narrow hips, jutting shoulder blades, pale skin, and- yes- spots sprinkled across the upper part of his forehead. It was a body that spoke of long nights spent indoors and improper nourishment. As Q stared at himself in the fogged-up bathroom mirror, he sighed. Next to the tightly wound form of muscle and scars that was James Bond, Q felt thoroughly inadequate. 

Of course, Q didn’t get to be the youngest Quartermaster in a century by voicing his insecurities. There was a method to getting past these things; namely, pretending. Q got dressed every day for work and walked as if he owned the clothes that he was wearing. At the end of the day, he stripped, nearly always in the presence of Bond, and he never hid himself behind his hands. And he would let Bond take him apart- kiss up his thighs and his hips and his pale stomach without any mention of embarrassment or shyness. He would roll over onto his knees and let himself become entangled with Bond, and never said a word. 

It was only in the scant moments that Q spent thoroughly by himself that he let his bravado fall away. But those insecurities were for his eyes only. He never allowed them to leave the bathroom mirror.

What Q didn't realize, which he most certainly should have, was that he was dating a double-oh agent. James' job was to read people, and it wasn't a quality that stopped when he flew home from an assignment. The moment that Q stepped out of the bathroom and crossed the bedroom, Bond knew the thoughts that were running through Q's head. He could see it in the defiant hold of the man's shoulders and the pinch between his eyebrows. Bond had never met a person who tried so hard to work against themselves. 

"Come here." Bond said, sitting up on the bed. Q glanced over his shoulder, a pair of pants and trousers in his hand. 

"I've got errands." Q said, tugging on his pants. 

"They can wait, can't they?" Bond asked, climbing out of bed and sinking to his knees in front of Q. He gripped at the bones of Q's hips and traced his teeth over the ridges of Q's body, sinking them down to leave a trail of bite marks. 

"I...suppose...." Q carded his fingers through Bond's hair. His breath hitched when Bond began to mouth at the fabric of his pants- wet heat surrounding his cock, which was hardening as a result of the sudden attention. 

"Come back to bed." Bond murmured. He slid his hands up Q's thighs and under the fabric, pulling the waistband down from the inside. Q's body went fractionally more rigid, so Bond was careful to wrap one arm quickly around Q's hip and allow the other arm to lean on the length of Q's leg while he dipped his tongue into Q's belly button. At the extensive contact, Q relaxed long enough for Bond to get back to his feet so that he could get Q over to the bed. 

They tumbled under the sheets, Q actively looking for indications from Bond as to what he should be doing, how Bond would want him. Bond tried to soothe Q of those thoughts, which he saw clouding his lover's eyes. Instead Bond encouraged Q to lay back while he kissed and licked his way across the expanse of Q's body.


	52. Chapter 52

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 007 has an upper respiratory infection and Q won't let him go work out until he is well

”I’m bloody fine, Q. Bugger off.” Bond snapped just before he became caught in an unpleasant, hacking cough that bowed him over. 

“Yes, you sound like the perfect picture of health.” Q said sardonically. His hand rubbed Bond’s back. “Come on now, you need to lie down.”

“I need to go and see M. And I’m supposed to go to training today.” Bond said, standing upright. His voice was raspy and it sounded incredibly painful. 

“You need to go back to bed. Medical sent a courier with some pills, you’re to take them and relax.” Q said, turning away from Bond to head towards the kitchen. The kettle was whistling loudly on the stove top. 

It took another half hour to convince Bond not to go to MI6. As it would turn out, only Q’s explanation of how contagious Upper Respiratory Infections could be and the potential disaster of having most of MI6 down for the count convinced Bond to return to bed. 

As Bond pulled on his pinstriped pyjama pants Q entered the room with a cup of tea, a bottle of water, and two prescription pill bottles. He put the tray on the bedside table and began to fiddle with the bottles. 

“Take this one with a bit of water, that’s your antibiotic.” Q said, handing Bond a large blue pill as the man crawled in between the sheets. 

“Thanks, mum.” Bond said, pulling the sheets up to his nose. 

“You have to be propped up.” Q sighed, pulling on Bond’s shoulder. It was only Bond’s resignation that sat him upright so that Q could pile all of the pillows on the bed behind Bond. 

”I’m fine.” Bond argued, although he did what Q instructed. 

”Yes, I know, but it’s my responsibility to look after you and it would be a bit easier if you would actually humor me.” Q pointed out. 

Bond let out a long, low cough. He grabbed at the center of his chest with one hand and pressed a tissue to his face with the other in an attempt to contain the outburst. 

“Are you speaking as my Quartermaster or as my boyfriend?” Bond asked weakly as he tried to catch his breath. 

“Both, of course.” Q smiled and placed a kiss on Bond’s forehead.


	53. Exhaustion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Q passes out in front of James. Cue shmoop. Q takes a sick week, and MI6 and Q dev. fall apart

”Is it a bit hot in here?” Q asked, pulling his collar away from his neck. Bond looked up from the book that he was reading. 

”Not that I can tell… should check the thermostat?” Bond asked, closing the novel. He laid it aside on the table next to an ashtray and his glass of scotch. 

”No, I’m fine.” Q said, unbuttoning the top button of his shirt and loosening his tie. “Just feeling a bit faint is all.”

“Why don’t you lie down?” Bond asked, rising to his feet. He thought that Q seemed a bit more pale than usual, and he certainly was not walking steadily on his feet. “I can make you some tea.” 

“No time, I’m afraid. We’re orchestrating a hack in Pakistan that I really need to head back to.” Q said. He combed his fingers through his hair quickly before opening his personal laptop. “I left a bit of coding here- I don’t know how I spaced and let that happen. I’ll just grab it and nip back over to headquarters.” 

”Q, you’ve barely been home at all this week.” Bond said, crossing the room to the small desk that Q kept. It wasn’t much larger than a sewing table, but it let Q be in the room with Bond when he was working from home. “Can’t it wait a bit?”

”We’re nearly there, James. I’ll come home after, I promise.” Q said, closing his laptop and re-buttoning his shirt. 

”You know, I’ve heard that from you before.” Bond said lowly, running his fingers over Q’s tie. Gently, he tightened the knot back into place and placed a deep kiss on Q’s lips. 

”I mean it. I’ll be back. It’ll only be a few days, tops.” Q said. He ran a hand down Bond’s stomach and sighed.

Q grabbed the thumb drive sitting on his desk and turned to go. Bond suddenly saw Q’s eyes roll up in his head, and he reached out to catch Q just as his body began to crumple towards the ground. 

”Q? Q!” Bond spoke forcefully, trying to pull Q toward consciousness. There was no response for a few seconds, and then Q’s eyes fluttered open. He looked around, startled, and his breath fluttered in his chest. 

”You’re not fine, Q. You’re going to bed.” Bond said, lifting Q up into his arms and carrying him into the bedroom that they shared. Too weak to protest, Q allowed himself to be tucked away among the pillows before Bond got onto the phone with headquarters. 

”Hello, Moneypenny? I need you to convince medical to make a house call.” Bond said, in his most commanding voice. 

Fifteen minutes later, a very harried-looking doctor knocked on the door. 

 

Q was officially diagnosed with exhaustion, dehydration, malnourishment, and a resulting migraine that had probably been the impetus for the fainting spell. Bond called M’s personal number- which no one was supposed to have, as on paper it did not technically exist- and informed him that both Q and Bond would be out for about a week while Q was brought back to health. M didn’t have a chance to argue before Bond hung up. 

Bond brought Q some tea and a delicious-smelling broth that Bond had had delivered from the Thai place down the street. He sat with Q, his back propped against the backboard and Q propped against his chest, while Q drank a little of each. Bond ran his hands through Q’s hair while they laid together, and for the first time in a very long time, they watched the sun set out the bedroom window.

For Bond, the time spent in the flat was not as taxing as he had expected. Caring for Q had become his primary occupation. He was up in the morning making sure that Q had breakfast and tea, and he heavily encouraged Q to take sleeping pills at night to help discourage the insomnia that had plagued the programmer since his college days. 

Unfortunately, by the third day, Q was nearly clawing at the walls to be allowed back to work. It did not help that every fifteen minutes there would be a call from Q Division with a question of some kind. Some where rather mundane (“how do we book flights to Peru?”) and others were a bit more tasking (“If we suspect that our data is being tracked, how do we re-route our signals?”) Bond took all of the phone calls and patiently explained to the underlings that for the week, Q was not to be considered an employee. Q’s assistant R was given a temporary promotion, which was enough to make Q nearly jump out of bed and rush down to headquarters. 

In essence, Bond had his hands full. That is, until he removed the batteries from the cell phone and hid it somewhere in the apartment while Q was sleeping. 

For the rest of the week, Bond made sure to keep himself wrapped bodily around Q when he wasn’t making tea or toast. The Quartermaster was loath to complain abut anything with Bond’s arms around his waist. At least, for a little while. So long as he didn’t think about the chaos undoubtedly unfolding just a few blocks away.


	54. Jealousy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Q and the rest of Q branch receive and new weapon to study and Q is so fascinated by it that Bond gets jealous.

”It can put a clean shot through solid rock. No splintering- the ammo is that strong.” One of the minions said, picking up a bullet from the table. 

“Can it be converted into sniper rounds?” Q asked, picking up the gun in question. It certainly had potential, but the typical agent didn’t need to shoot through a cave wall. It was more practical to be able to make accurate shots from a distance. 

”Maybe if we…” The other Q Branch workers prattled on, making calculations on the glass table with markers. Q listened and typed a series of notes into his tablet. Dimly, he was aware that the door to the meeting room had opened and that someone had entered, but he was too preoccupied to pay much attention. 

“Q?” When Q turned around, he noticed Bond standing in the far corner of the room, looking thoroughly disinterested and impatient. Q got up and walked over to him, placing a chaste kiss on Bond’s cheek. 

”We’ll just be a few more minutes, James.” Q said. He didn’t wait for Bond to reply before returning to the table. 

Without realizing it, the meeting went from taking an extra few minutes to nearly an hour. Bond remained in the corner, but he began to feel increasingly embarrassed as time passed. Q hadn’t so much as looked at him since returning to the table, and it was clear that his presence was meaningless in comparison to the shiny new toy that was propped up on the table. 

Finally, Bond became irate enough to leave. His departure went unremarked upon, and it wasn’t until Q glanced back and realized that Bond was missing fifteen minutes after Bond left that he called the meeting to a close. He sent a text to Bond, asking where he had gone, but didn’t receive a reply. 

Unable to find Bond anywhere in MI6, Q resigned himself to going home alone. Guilt tugged at him, but there wasn’t very much that he could do until he could get a hold of Bond. Given the late hour, Q went straight to bed when he got back to the flat that he shared with the agent. It was ominous that Q was alone in the flat, but Bond’s suit jacket was draped over a chair and his MI6 ID was placed on the coffee table. At least he had come home, even if it was briefly. 

Around three in the morning, Bond stumbled into the flat with one hand loosely bandaged with a cloth, which was soaked through with blood. Q had been asleep, but he woke up as Bond stumbled around the bedroom. 

”How bloody drunk are you?” Q asked irritably, turning on the light. 

”M’fine.” Bond slurred, kicking off his shoes. He then crawled into bed, still fully dressed. Q caught a look at the cloth and his stomach dropped. 

”What did you do to your hand?” Q asked, trying to un-clench Bond’s fist enough to pull the rag away. 

“Cut it.” Bond murmured sleepily. “Mon-peny fixed it.” 

“Yes, she did a bang-up job.” Q said, tossing the rag in the corner of the room so that he could examine Bond’s hand. He had been in a fight. That much was obvious. “You’re a mess, Bond. Why didn’t you wait for me?” He asked.

“Din want me.” Bond mumbled with an edge to his voice. “So Il-eft.”

“Oh, James.” Q frowned and got out of bed to head into the bathroom. Gently, he cleaned the wounds on Bond’s hand and re-bound them with real bandages. He then stripped Bond of his tie, shirt, and pants and tucked him into bed. 

The next morning, Bond groaned miserably. Q braced himself in bed for James’ anger, but was surprised when he instead wrapped his arms around Q and pressed a kiss to his shoulder. 

Q promised himself that he would be far more attentive to Bond in the future.


	55. Parenthood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A parent!00Q based on the art by rerumfragmenta
> 
> The aforementioned image can be found here: http://rerumfragmenta.tumblr.com/image/42188379541

They thought that MI6 would prepare them for the sleepless nights associated with early parenthood. 

Needless to say, they were very, very wrong. 

The first day that they brought Branson home, the baby did nothing but cry. From five in the afternoon until near two o’clock in the morning, nothing that either Q or Bond did would silence their newborn son. 

At 2:13, Branson was finally tucked away in his crib, quiet and sleeping. Bond and Q both bee-lined for their bed, eager to catch even the minimal amount of sleep that they would be able to scrape together. 

Unfortunately, within minutes of getting into bed, Branson began to shriek once again. Bond moaned, and Q shuffled out of bed to attend to the infant. 

The moment that he was in Q’s arms, Branson quieted. He held his son gently, and carried him around the flat for a few minutes before crawling back into bed next to James, who smiled at the two boys next to him. When he caught Q’s yawn, Bond reached out and laid Branson against his chest. Shockingly, the baby went from merely quiet to sleeping the second that he settled against Bond. 

In relief, Bond laid one hand over Branson’s back and wrapped his other arm low around Q’s waist. Q rolled onto his side so that his head was against Bond’s chest and yawned again. 

Within minutes, all three of the men were asleep.


	56. UnCONventional

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Q has to call several minions back in to Q branch from a con to deal with an emergency, and then has to explain cosplaying to Bond, who wants to know why one of the minions is dressed with leaves and not much else (they are cosplaying as Poison Ivy from Batman)

”Taking casual Friday a bit far, don’t you think?” Bond asked, frozen in the doorway to Q’s office. 

There were three Q Branch technicians in the room, and Bond recognized them as some of the best that Q had. But they were dressed in an assortment of odd clothing- the one was in a set of long, brown robes and holding a light saber. Another looked nearly practical with pants, boots, and a leather jacket. The oddly shaped pin on her chest and the bow and arrows slung over her shoulder, however, were rather out of the ordinary. The last was wearing only long, strategically placed vines of ivy over a beige bodysuit. Bond tried his best to avert his eyes, but he still caught an amused look from Q. 

“I want this all taken care of in the next hour.” Q was telling the group sternly. “005 and a handful of field agents in Beirut are depending on you. Go.” 

The three filed past Bond, none making a comment about their state of dress. Bond closed the door behind them after they left, and looked at Q with a quirked eyebrow. 

“Setting the standards of professionalism a bit low, are we?” Bond asked, straightening his tie. 

“They had the day off. I had to call them in from a con.” Q said, sitting down. 

”They were conning someone?” Bond asked, confused. Q cast a lingering glance at Bond and then chuckled. 

”No, Bond. They were at a convention.” Q said, shaking his head. “You know; panels and costumes, famous actors signing photographs, that sort of thing.” 

“I’ve no idea what you’re…” Bond trailed off, confused. 

”Comic-Con? That one doesn’t even ring a bell?” Q asked, looking at Bond incredulously. “How is it that you travel the world for a living but you’ve never even heard of the most mainstream convention in existence?” 

“It’s a true mystery.” Bond said, rolling his eyes.


	57. Lycanthrope

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bond was a werewolf who had been working for MI6 for over 50 years using a pill to keep him balanced. Skyfall happens, and Bond decides that the pills have made him weak so he quits. Q, who is a vampire, convinces him to stay.

The pills were supposed to make Bond more effective. They suppressed his rage, which kept him from changing at the slightest change of adrenaline, which stopped all occurrences of transformations, which helped Bond maintain his job as MI6’s best double-oh agent.

Bitten just shy of forty, Bond was in his physical prime when he became a member of the werewolf species. This meant that while most inflicted with lycanthrope ended up with superior human levels of strength and endurance, Bond’s were practically heroic.

He kept his position as the favorite for damn near forty years before something started to wear away at him. Bond became tired, drawn, and weak in comparison to the other werewolves that had haunted the underbelly of London for centuries. It wasn’t difficult to determine that the tiny red pills engineered by Q Division were responsible for Bond’s heady decline.

“I can’t take them anymore.” Bond said, looking at the white-haired woman on the other side of the desk.

“Your country needs you, Bond. You would abandon us in our time of terror?” M asked, folding her hands in front of her body. She stared directly at Bond, her expression determined and completely void of fear.

“I stayed through the entire Cold War, because you asked me to.” Bond said, his voice a low rumble. “I put myself through hell suppressing my changes for assignments, and I did it for queen and country. Doesn’t that earn me the tiniest leeway?”

“Times are changing, Bond, and we need you.” M said simply. “If you don’t want to take the pills, then you’ll have to resign. The choice is yours.”

“I don’t have anything else.” Bond said stonily.

“That is not my problem, 007.” M replied.

 

And so, ten years later, Bond was still one of MI6’s best agents, although his strength was declining. He was sent to Istanbul, where he lost the microchip. He died. He resurrected. MI6 was attacked by terrorists. He met the new Q. He went to China.

And then all hell broke loose; M died, Skyfall was burned to the ground, and Bond was done. He stopped taking his pills the morning after M died, and he changed two days after. He tore across the Scottish countryside until he woke up one morning in bloody, tattered clothes five miles from another living soul.

Most of MI6 assumed that Bond had gone on a drunken bender. When he returned to London, he was called in for his debrief. First, however, Bond had to turn in the replacement weapon that Q had given him after he returned from Silva’s island.

“Bond.” Q looked up from his computer as Bond walked into his private office. The room was small, cold, and oddly dark.

“Q.” Bond said, stepping forward. His nose twitched as he got closer to Q’s desk. Something wasn’t right. “I’m returning my equipment.”

“Very well.” Q said, standing. “We should have another Walther ready for you by your next assignment.”

Bond paused and cleared his throat. “I won’t be coming back, Q.” He said, running his fingers through his hair.

Q looked up at him sadly.

“It all gets rather old after awhile, doesn’t it?” He said, picking up the gun that Bond had laid down. “Watching so many people die, powerless to stop it. Trapped in the cycle of your own body.”

Bond stared at Q, his nerves lighting in warning. “What are you talking about, Q?” He asked.

“I know what you are, Bond.” Q said. “And I know you went off your suppressants. I could smell it the second you walked in here.”

“How could you-“

“I’m a vampire.” Q said, cutting Bond off. “And before you make a fuss, I haven’t killed anyone in nearly a decade, which is less than you can say.”

Bond’s body bristled.

“Now, I don’t personally buy into that natural-enemy crock, so excuse me if I don’t attack you on sight.” Q said. His voice sounded tired. “Although if you feel differently, I would appreciate it if you maintained your human form during the killing rampage. I’d hate to risk the lives of my staff.”

“I’m not going to hurt you.” Bond said evenly. “Even if you are a leech.”

“Good. Then we can move on. Why are you resigning?” Q asked. He gestured to a chair on the opposite side of his desk, and Bond sat down, suddenly compelled to share all of the things that he had been keeping quiet for decades.

After a half hour, Bond realized that he was late to his debrief. He jumped up and rushed to the door.

“Bond-“ Q called, just before he pulled at the knob.

“Yes?”

“Do you trust me?” He asked.

Bond thought about it. In the last week, his life had been put in Q’s hands. Vampire or not, he did not sense betrayal in Q.

“I trust you enough.” Bond replied. “Why?”

“Then don’t resign. I’ll fix this. I promise.” Q said.

Bond nodded and left.


	58. The Dominatrix and the Propsal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James tries to propose but he is reallly nervous. He gets help from another 00 (my headcannon is that Irene Adler from Sherlock is a 00).

“You think that he’ll turn you down.” 003 sat down across the table from Bond, who was staring down at a black velvet box in his hands.

“Irene.” Bond nodded to the woman, who was dressed in a long trench coat, slacks, and heels. Her hair was pulled away from her face, showing off her bright eyes and a smile that straddled the line between honey and venom.

“James.” She raised a coffee to her lips and drank without taking her eyes off of Bond.

“I think that our means of employment isn’t conducive to connections.” Bond said, closing the box.

“So it’s not his rejection you’re worried about. It’s putting the giant target on his back.” Irene smiled.

“Precisely.” Bond replied. He put the box in his pocket. He could feel its weight resting against his thigh.

“Why don’t you let Q decide whether it’s worth the risk?” She asked, leaning back in her chair.

“He’s young.” Bond said.

“That’s irrelevant.” Irene glanced around the room, taking in the other café patrons in a swift look.

“Hardly.” Bond leaned forward and tapped his hand against the table. “He doesn’t know what a lifetime is yet. He doesn’t know what he’s promising.”

“James, this man watches you risk your life for queen and country on a weekly basis. He knows what he’s signing up for.” Irene said. “You should trust him enough to make his own decisions.”

“I do.” Bond argued.

“Unless you’re concerned, you mean.” She said with a smirk. After a moment she stood and gathered her handbag from the floor.

“Bond, ask Q to marry you.” Irene said, placing a perfectly manicured hand on Bond’s shoulder. “Life’s too short for doubts. Particularly in our line of work.”


	59. Stress Relief

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Q having a terrible day at work, finally going home ready to pass out and finds Bond naked in his bed (hehe); who senses the mood and makes it all better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated M

Q hated interns on a good day, and that was when they didn’t misread the labels of incredibly explosive chemicals and trigger a chain of destruction through the lower bowels of Q Branch. The mess itself was a nightmare, and then there was the paperwork. Christ, the paperwork. 

He nudged the door to his flat open and shrugged off his jacket. It flopped over the back of a chair and Q moved on through the flat, toeing off his shoes in the sitting room and hanging his tie off of a doorknob in the hallway. 

The door to his bedroom was ajar. Q pushed it open with his hip as he unbuttoned his shirt. He froze, shocked to find his bed already occupied. 

“Welcome home.” Bond said with a smile. He was laying on the top of Q’s sheets, completely naked, with a book in his hand. 

“Nabokov? Really?” Q asked, pulling off his shirt. 

”I’m laying naked in your bed, and you’re going to comment on the book?” Bond asked, setting the novel aside. “I’m crushed.” 

Q smiled and crawled across the mattress He kneeled next to Bond and kissed him deeply, his hand running over the older man’s chest and shoulders. 

“That’s a bit better.” Bond said, reaching over. He pulled Q into his lap and made quick work of unfastening Q’s trousers so that he could press his hands against Q’s hardening cock. Bond’s own erection pressed against Q’s buttocks. 

”You really know how to turn a day around, don’t you?” Q asked, nipping along Bond’s neck and shoulder with light bites. 

”I do my best.” Bond said. He wrapped his arms close to Q’s back and quickly rolled them over, putting himself in a better position to remove the last of Q’s clothes. 

“I must be the luckiest man alive.” Q said, the awfulness of the day already fading from his mind.


	60. Irrational Fears

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Q was taken by some baddies while on a field assignment with Bond, taking them both by surprise as it turned out to be a trap. Q is calm though because he is trained, and he knows Bond is coming for him, until they try to put him on a plane. cue him trying his best to calm down despite being restrained and Bond in at the last minute.

The delicate film of skin of Q’s wrists burned. His shoulders, which had been jerked and held and finally bound at an awkward angle, ached. Grains of sand, which coated the metal floor of the hollowed-out van where Q was being kept, dug into his high cheekbones. The grit rubbed at the skin under his eyes, irritating the bruises caused by sleepless nights. 

There was no fear that he wouldn’t be found. His abductors had viciously cut the tracker from his inner arm, leaving the blood to dry in rivulets down his arm. They did not know about the one in his thigh, however, and so he was traceable. And if he was traceable, then Bond would find him. 

That was Q’s primary comfort for the first two days of his capture; Bond had been no more than a block away from him when Q had been captured. He would have known within thirty minutes that Q was taken, and he could activate the trackers within another five. Even with the head start, Bond wouldn’t be too far behind. 

This sense of calm lasted for the duration of the miserable drive, his captors in the front seat while Q was shuffled helpless from one side of the van to the other in the back. When the van finally jerked to a stop, slamming Q into the side of the vehicle, he was relieved. 

That was, until they swung the doors to the van open and pulled Q outside into the dusk. 

They were standing on a tarmac, with a small twin-engine plane propped a short ways away. 

Panic rose like bile in the back of Q’s throat. He hadn’t expected a plane. Planes were dangerous. Unsafe. They killed people. Defied gravity….

Stop. Q chastised himself. His fear of planes bordered on irrationality, and a panic attack would be a huge detriment to his situation. 

Instead, he focused on stalling as long as he possibly could. As the men pushed him towards the machine, he tangled his feet together. With a crunch, he landed on the asphalt. The full brunt of the impact was split between his right shoulder and the side of his head. His glasses were hanging loosely from his face. 

“Get him up.” One of the men snapped. When someone reached down to pull Q to his feet, he struggled. The ropes behind his back began to rub burns into his wrists. He received a kick to the stomach that made him cough and gag. 

”Let him go.” A familiar voice said. Relief swelled in Q. He heard a series of gunshots, and the men around him scattered and wailed. Bond approached Q and untied him. 

”I told you to meet me at the hotel.” Bond said, untying Q. 

“Sorry, got a bit turned around.” Q replied, rolling his eyes.


	61. Surviving High School

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> High School AU: Q is that nerdy kid that everyone bullies because he's gay. One day, Bond steps in to help. Angst/fluff

Thomas Quell- Q to his friends- was hiding behind a row of lockers in the boy’s locker room. His regular clothes were clasped in one hand while he tried to find a quiet, unoccupied space to change. 

He wasn’t embarrassed about his body- he was skinny, but no more than most of the other Tenth years that ambled about at Saint John’s Preparatory. If anything, being small made him less noticeable. He could disappear in the halls, slink away after the final bell rang and he was free to go home, he could even buy his lunch and sneak out of the cafeteria easily enough. 

But during Phys Ed there was nowhere for him to hide. His second computer programming class had bumped around his schedule so that he was stuck taking gym with a large group of twelfth-year jocks. This same group of arseholes had caught him snogging Evan Reynolds two months back, and had decided to make his life a living hell for the rest of the term. 

Before Q could change from his phys ed uniform to his jeans and t-shirt, he heard the rumblings of the boys. 

“Where’s Q the Queer?” Someone asked, loudly.

And so the manhunt began. There wasn’t anywhere for Q to go, so they found him in a matter of seconds- all seven of the beefy, muscular torturers appearing in the row of lockers at once. 

While Q would hide, he refused to run. He stood while the twelfth-years drew closer, arms folded over his chest.

“Leave me alone.” He snapped as one particularly cruel boy- Gerry Atkins- stopped within inches of Q.

“What’s wrong, Queer? Are we not your type?” Atkins sneered. Q was quickly surrounded by Atkins’ friends, who leered down at him. 

”Fuck off, Atkins.” Q said, trying to push through the crowd. 

Q was spared further conversation with the group by a swift, harsh blow to his gut, followed by two more. He reached out to grasp onto a wall or something, anything, to hold himself up, but one of the boys grabbed his arm and wrenched it behind him painfully, causing Q to grunt in pain. 

He was kicked in the groin then, and soon after Q lost track of where the individual blows were landing in lieu of just feeling a wide, pressing hurt. He tried to curl in upon himself, to minimize how much of his body was available to hit, but it did nothing. 

“Hey! Get the fuck off of him!” A voice cut through the beating, and the hits slowed. They did not stop, but enough of Atkins’ crew turned to the new distraction to lessen the hits. 

“Sod off, Bond. This ain’t your fight.” Atkins said. 

”Like hell it isn’t. Seven against one? That’s a bit pathetic, even for you.” Bond said, looming close. 

”What’re gonna do, take us out?” Atkins asked, leveling a particularly hard kick to Q’s ribs. Q groaned and tried to fight the sob that rose in his throat. 

”I’ll make your life a living hell.” Bond said. “You of all people know what I can do, Gerry. Don’t test me.” 

”Whatever, we’re done here anyway.” Atkins said. “Come on, let’s get out of here.” 

And so the group trudged off, leaving Q bloody and bruised on the floor.

Bond stepped towards him, and Q flinched as a hand came down towards his face. 

“Here, can you stand?” Bond asked, and Q realized that he was reaching out to help him up. He took it, and got shakily to his feet. He was a mess, with a split lip and a series of scrapes and dark marks rising on his skin. 

”I’m fine.” Q said, getting to his feet. “Thanks.” 

”Come on,” Bond said, gesturing towards the door. “Let’s get out of here.” 

They left school grounds, Q still holding his jeans and shirt in his hands, and wandered through the back roads of town. 

“I live just up the road.” Bond said, pointing to a tiny house with two front doors. “We’ll clean you up.” 

”Your parents won’t mind?” Q asked dubiously. He winced as he walked, his chest aching.

”No one’s home.” Bond said after a pause. “It’ll just be us.”

Q sighed and followed Bond up the small, untidy garden and to the front door. Bond pushed inside and waved Q in. 

The small house was one-level, sparsely furnished, and looked like the bedroom of a teenage boy. Bond gestured for Q to follow him into the kitchen, and he set a chair out for Q to sit in. 

”Take your shirt off.” Bond instructed, digging through a cabinet until he pulled out a small first-aid kit. There was a bottle of alcohol and some plasters inside, rattling around with a few first aid odds-and-ends that Q never would have known what to do with. 

“I’m really okay.” Q said anxiously as Bond stared down at him. He began to regret following the boy, who had always been a quiet, brooding presence in the back fringes of Q’s life. “I just wanted to get away from those arses.” 

”Just let me take a look.” Bond said, gesturing to Q’s chest. “You may need to be taken to the A&E.” 

”Listen,” Q began, standing. “Thank you for stepping in for me. Really. But I think I should go.” 

“Q-“

“No, really. I’m fine.” Q said. “Thanks again.” 

Bond caught the upper part of Q’s arm and held him, careful not to squeeze too hard. 

”Why won’t you let me help you?” Bond asked. 

“You mean like guys like you have helped me before?” Q asked, gesturing to his broken body. “Look Bond, I have no idea why today of all days you decided to step in on Atkin and his gang, but this isn’t the first time they’ve come after me and it won’t be the last, so just let me deal with it, okay?” 

”Fine.” Bond said quietly. 

“Thank you.” Q replied. He turned and walked out of the house, casting only a single glance backwards before he walked out of the door. 

The odd thing was, once Q returned to his classes the next day, he began to notice James Bond far more than he ever had before. Q had always seen him in the halls here and there, and he had known that they’d shared a gym hour, but for the rest of the week he saw Bond in between all of his classes, always a few steps behind him. During gym, Bond changed a few rows away from Q, suspiciously within earshot. 

Q noticed an immediate difference in how Atkins and his crew treated him. They leered, and threw things in the hall, but they did not touch him. They kept a respectable distance. 

”What are you doing?” Q asked at the end of the third day when he had accidentally bumped into Bond after one of his classes. 

”What do you mean?” Bond asked, casting a glance down the hall. 

”You’ve been following me. I’ve seen you.” Q said, folding his arms across his chest. 

“I’m helping.” Bond said, leaning forward. He placed a chaste kiss on Q’s cheek, right in the middle of the hallway. 

”What-“

“Come to my place after class.” Bond said, placing a hand on Q’s shoulder. “Please.”

”Why?” 

”Well, ideally I was hoping to get to know you a bit better, but if you’re truly adverse to that, then we can play video games.” Bond shrugged. “We won’t be bothered, I promise.” 

And so began the early stages of Q’s relationship with James Bond.


	62. Clinging

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Q gets clingy when ill

It was hot in the bed. Too hot. Bond tried to roll over, and was stopped by the vice-like grip of Q’s limbs wrapped around his entire body. Q’s skin was fire-hot. 

“For christssake, Q. You’re like a furnace.” Bond complained, trying to pry Q off of his body enough so that he could shift positions. Q moaned pitifully in response, and Bond was surprised by the pale tone of Q’s skin and the slick sweat on the younger man’s forehead. 

“Q? Wake up.” Bond shook Q awake gently, and was rewarded with a very out of it Q who wriggled closer against Bond’s chest, whimpering all the while. 

”Hot.” Q said into the fabric of Bond’s shirt. 

“You’re feverish, Q.” Bond said as Q’s arms wrapped around his back. He allowed it for a moment, resting his hands on the back of Q’s neck and in his hair. Then he began to push Q off of him. 

”Where-” Q’s eye flew open and he looked at Bond sadly. 

“I’m getting you a fever reducer.” Bond explained. “And maybe a compress. Your temperature really is too high.” 

Q let him go- albeit clearly begrudgingly- and was still in bed when Bond returned to the bedroom a few minutes later. He handed Q the pills and some water, and then laid an icepack wrapped in a towel on Q’s forehead. 

Bond then returned to bed. Before he had even had a chance to settle into the sheets, Q slipped one arm under his back and entwined his legs with Bond’s. He reached out with his free hand and took Bond’s in his. 

“Thank you.” Q mumbled, snuggling close. Bond could feel the coolness of the compress against his cheek, but he didn’t complain.


	63. Something Worth Guarding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> royal AU, normally authors write one character as a royal and the other a guard or servant, but write how you see fit!

“I don’t need a bloody bodyguard to go to the pub.” Quentin sighed, putting his mobile on speaker while he dug through his personal closet. There was another, more “official” closet down the hall, but he tried his damndest not to touch it with a ten foot pole. “Or the supermarket, or to get petrol.”

“Q, don’t be difficult. You’re the next in line to the throne, we can’t have you wandering around unprotected.” 

”It’s a small town, Mum.” Quentin argued. 

”Quentin, you will not argue with me on this. Your father is very sick, and he wants to know that you’re safe. He’s sending one of his best men. He’ll be there late this afternoon.” 

”Why can’t I just bring one of my own staff? I have guards already.” 

”Because your father wants someone who is trained as a personal bodyguard, not someone who looks after fences and valuables.”

Q knew a lost argument when he saw one. 

”Fine, mum.” He sighed. “Tell him thank you.”

”Of course, dear.” She hung up, and Q was left to wait for the mysterious gentleman to arrive. 

While Q’s house was small and he technically lived alone, he had a small staff that ran his house during the day and populated the guesthouse in the evening. Ten security guards, a cook, a personal assistant, and two maids. And now a personal bodyguard. It was a nightmare. All Q wanted was to be able to live in peace. Being the next in line to a throne that was about to be vindicated complicated those desires. 

Q walked through the house and stopped when he noticed that the maids were making up the guest room. He walked in, and gave both of the women a start hen he asked them what they were doing.

”Our apologies, Sir.” One of the women gave a small bow of her head. Q had done his best to eliminate formalities in the house, but there was only so much that he could do without making everyone uncomfortable. “We’re preparing the room for your visitor.”

”Have we run out of room in the guest house?” Q asked. He knew that they hadn’t.

”We were instructed that he would be staying in the house, and he was to be given the room closest to your own.” The maid- Clara- said. Q sighed and thanked them both; he couldn’t very well argue- they were just following instructions. 

At quarter past four there was a knock on the door. This struck Q as highly odd, seeing as any visitor had to pass through two security checkpoints just to make it up the driveway. Clara answered the door, and Q walked into the room to meet his new bodyguard. 

”Your hi-” The tall, muscular blond began to bow. Q held up a hand to stop him immediately. 

“It’s Q.” He said, stepping forward. “Well, Quentin. But everyone calls me Q.” 

”Very well, Sir.” The man nodded. 

”What’s your name?” Q asked. 

”Bond. James Bond.” The man said. “As you’re aware, I’ve been sent as your personal bodyguard.” 

”Indeed.” Q said. “Clara will show you to your room. I’ve no plans to go anywhere this evening, so feel free to settle in as you see fit.” 

”Thank you, sir.” Bond said. 

“It’s Q.” Q insisted. Bond smiled, but didn’t reply. 

Later that evening, Q began to take note of Bond’s habits. Typically, the staff ate dinner around the mahogany dining table while Q took his plate to his room, where he ate while working on the computer. Bond, instead of eating with the others, forewent the meal and instead stood at attention outside of Q’s bedroom door for three hours. Q only knew this because he had left his room to take his plate down to the kitchen, and was startled by the man’s presence in the hallway. 

“Shit, Bond! What in the bloody-“

“I apologize for frightening you, Sir.” Bond said, his eyes widened in surprise. 

“You don’t need to stand out here, you know.” Q said, confused. “Go relax and read or watch TV or unpack. I’ll let you know if I’m going to be leaving the house.” 

”It’s my responsibility to look after-” Bond began. Q cut him off.

”Listen, I’m sure you are wonderful at your job, but I very rarely leave the house. I stay in that room, on the computer, for eighty-five percent of the day. If I leave, I only go to the edge of the property. On the extremely rare occasion that I do leave, however, I promise I will let you know and you can follow me until your heart’s content. Have you eaten? Miss Covey, our chef, is wonderful. Go get something to eat.” 

”Sir.” Bond nodded, uncertain.

”Q.” Q corrected. “Really, it’s fine.” 

He called his mother’s head of staff, Mallory, that evening. 

“I know you have influence with father, can you get him to call off the hound dog?” Q asked quietly into the phone while he paced his room. 

”Do you have some opposition to Mr. Bond? We can send someone else.” 

“No, Bond is fine.” Q said, worried he was about to cost a man his job. “I just don’t know what to do about him. He’s always around.” 

”Sir, if you don’t mind me saying, Bond is the absolute best at his job. He’s just trying to keep you safe, as he was instructed.” 

”He stands outside of my bedroom for hours. I haven’t seen him sit once today. I don’t think he even eats.”

Mallory sighed. As the head of staff for the royal family, he was used to many strange requests and phone calls, but none were so odd as the ones he received from Quentin, who did not take to the “royal” lifestyle at all. 

”Perhaps you can strike up an arrangement of some kind.” Mallory offered. “Mr. Bond is trained in extensive undercover work. Why don’t we try for something more along those lines?”

”Thank you, Mallory.” Q said, relieved. A few moments later, he heard a ringing just outside his bedroom door. Bond answered the phone, and spoke in dulcet tones for few moments before hanging up. Immediately, his footsteps retreated somewhat from the door. 

It took a week for Q and Bond to strike a comfortable balance. At first, Bond stayed within ten feet of Q nearly everywhere that he went. But after quite a bit of convincing, Q managed to provoke a compromise in which Bond was merely in any room that Q happened to be occupying at the time. Bond would read, or watch the telly, while Q worked on his computer, which he had moved to the downstairs common room to make everything less awkward. 

One afternoon, Q’s computer began to put up a fuss. He checked multiple programs, but it was clearly a hardware issue. He would need to go to town and pick up a new part. 

”Bond, I’m going to need to go to town.” Q said, turning in his computer chair. Bond rose from the couch immediately. 

Bond drove. It was something that Q didn’t mind at all- he hated to drive, especially with the horrifying paparazzi throwing themselves over the hood of his car. He was surprised when Bond managed to avoid some of the more crowded avenues and got him to the store in record time. 

They got into the store and located the part with minimal interruption or incident. Q checked out, paused to look at a magazine article about his younger brother (who somehow was always surrounded by scandal). Then he and Bond left the building, only to be swarmed by people. 

Bond wrapped one arm across Q’s back and raised his other arm in front of the both of them, effectively parting the sea of people. 

It wasn’t until they were nearly at the car that Q noticed the glint of metal coming down towards them. 

Bond noticed it first. He jerked Q back, and leveled a kick at the wrist holding the knife. It clattered to the ground, and Bond picked the man up by his wrists, securing them behind his back with a zip tie. He man screamed angrily in protest, but Bond ignored him. Instead, he held onto the bind with one hand and opened the car door for Q with the other. Once Q was tucked inside of the vehicle, Bond handed Q the keys and armed the keypad underneath the car door handles. He then called the authorities, which were there in a manner of minutes. 

As they drove back to the estate, Q attempted to slow his rapidly beating heart. 

“Thank you.” He said, looking at Bond. 

“I’m just doing my job.” Bond said, although Q had to admit that even the guard looked a little startled. 

“I’m thinking a quiet night will be in order.” Q said as they passed through the gates to the house. 

Bond chuckled. “I think that’s a good idea, Q.” 

Q grinned privately at the proper use of his name. 

He was beginning not to mind Bond after all.


	64. Growing Into It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bond gets de-aged into his teens and continually harasses Q in trying to get a date (or a smooch or some hanky panky)

”I told you not to touch anything.” Q said with a roll of his eyes. A much leaner, much younger James Bond stood in front of him- his face smooth of lines. Even Bond’s voice, while still deep, was missing some of the gravel that Q was used to. 

“Har bloody har.” Bond snapped, leaning over Q’s desk. “How long until it wears off?” 

”Typically, de-aging powder wears off in a matter of hours.” Q shrugged. “You’ll be fine soon enough. 

”Great. What am I supposed to do until then?” Bond asked, looking at his hands. 

“Besides working on your listening skills? I’ve no idea.” Q said. “But I need to get back to work, so if you’ll excuse me-“

“You know, I’ve always wanted to be with an older man.” Bond said flirtatiously, walking around to stand behind Q.

“Well if I see any sixty year olds looking for a good time, I’ll have them ring you.” Q said, his shoulders stiffening.

”Come on, Q. You know what I mean.” Bond cooed, trailing his fingers down Q’s neck.

”Bond, stop it. I need to work.” Q said shaking Bond off.

Bond smirked and left, only to return a half hour later. He looked marginally older, maybe in his early twenties, but not by much.

“Now what?” Q asked, glancing at the light stubble on Bond’s chin and the more defined muscles in the man’s arms.

“I’m bored.” Bond said, leaning over Q’s desk. He reached towards Q’s chest and tugged on Q’s black tie. “Come on, let’s find something to do.” 

Q gulped, and took a deep breath. 

“I have to work, Bond. Why don’t you go down to medical and wait this out there?” 

“Because I’d rather be here with you.” Bond smirked. He tugged the tie closer, causing Q to lean towards him. “You really couldn’t say the same?” 

”Some of us have self control.” Q pointed out. “And also, jobs.” 

”Don’t be like that, Q.” Bond said, smile wide on his face. But he left just the same, casting a glance over his shoulder as he went. 

Two hours later, Bond reappeared. This time, he couldn’t have been more than five years younger than his actual age. The lines in his face were back, although slightly lesser in number, and the gravel was back in his voice. 

”Q.” Bond nodded, sitting in the chair across from Q’s desk. 

“I see your abilities of restraint have returned.” Q observed, looking away from his computer screen. Bond smirked from across the desk, and nodded. 

”Although I must admit, my earlier experiences were quite eye-opening.” Bond said, his arms draped over the sides of the chair. 

“Were they?” Q asked, turning back to the keyboard on his desk. 

”Certainly.” Bond rose, and once again walked around the back side of Q’s desk. He waited until Q turned, and sank down so that he was eye-to-eye with Q. 

”I do believe I have feelings for you, Quartermaster.” Bond said, leaning forward. He pressed his lips to Q’s masterfully working his hands through Q’s hair and his tongue into his mouth. 

As they kissed, Bond’s face subtly regained the last of the markings of his true age.


End file.
